


Fighting To Wake

by MaybeMaple



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Getting Together, Loss of Humanity, M/M, Mostly Akira's POV, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Canon, Third Semester (Persona 5), Unreliable Narrator, and we know akira doesn’t really have the high ground here…, its just an unfortunate situation, not intended to bash the phantom thieves, with a few exceptions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26513530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaybeMaple/pseuds/MaybeMaple
Summary: Maruki’s dream world proves difficult to wake from, leaving Akira to face the doctor without the aid of The Phantom Thieves. At least he has Akechi, as strange as it is to take comfort from his would-be murderer. In a perfect dream, his friends don’t need him. It’s him and Akechi against the world. Maybe Akira is being selfish, as it seems this soft reality has nothing for him, but he can’t let Maruki lie to them, even if it’s a beautiful lie.Isolated from his friends, Akira begins to grapple with his humanity.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 70
Kudos: 210





	1. Cold January in Tokyo

Something was very wrong.

Akira had woken to the new year in an unfamiliar Tokyo, perfect like a sickly-sweet aftertaste clinging to the back of his throat. Here, the dead walked, cats had human faces, and there was never a need to fight for anything. It felt like he was losing his mind, like his whole life as he knew it had been a nightmare he was now stubbornly refusing to wake from.

Sitting at Leblanc’s counter, huddled in his coat over an untouched cup of coffee, the distance to the booths was like a canyon. Happy voices drifted across, Futaba, Sojiro, and the thing that might be Morgana blissfully unaware of the uncanny wrongness of which they themselves were a part. He’d never felt so alone in his life, and that was saying something.

Thus far he’d taken no action, allowing himself to be pulled along in the current of wrongness, but it was only getting worse. He had to do something. He had to think of a plan. This was too heavy, too much to comprehend and was therefor, naturally, his responsibility. He’d learned that well enough from the strange beings who’d dubbed him Trickster. If he didn’t fix this then no one would. For all their knowledge, the denizens of The Velvet Room had been disposed of easily enough by Yaldabaoth, Lavenza’s last desperate cry choosing him as their champion. As it was meant to be. Akira didn’t feel like anything special, but he wasn’t one to deny reality, and at this point he’d been given enough evidence to the contrary.

The only problem was, all he had to go on this time was a half-remembered dream, and with Morgana now a clueless human he’d gone from having an amnesiac guide to none at all. There was no one to talk to, no one to ask. And Akira realized, with mounting anxiety, that he had no idea where to start. He was frozen by indecision, a statue capable of nothing but grunting vague affirmations as the people in the booth failed to draw him into their conversation.

The bell above the door chimed and the winter air rushed in, hitting him like a bucket of ice water to the face. Akira woke from his stupor with a start. Akechi strode into the café, his sharp eyes cataloging its contents and lingering for just a moment too long on Wakaba. As always, his presence was magnetic. Not a hair out of place, he looked like he could have walked off the cover of a magazine, if it wasn’t for the cruel twist of his lips, which Akira was quickly realizing he preferred to the old mask.

There was no logical way to explain the relief he felt. It was like he knew, before the other boy had even said a word, that he’d found an ally. Perhaps it was because Akechi could no more exist here than Akira, in this soft reality with the edges sanded off. Yes, Goro Akechi had tried to kill him, would have killed him—Akira was sure of that—but trapped in a world so suffocatingly fake, even that, somehow, was a relief.

“…You know, don’t you?” Akechi asked, and Akira clung onto it like a lifeline. “We have to discuss this.”

“You… remember?” He tried to keep his voice flat, guarded, but could not help the sliver of desperation that wormed its way in.

“That’s right… Just like you seem to.” Akechi’s eyes flickered nervously towards the booths. “…Come on.”

That was how he found himself alone with his would-be murderer, taking some refuge from the cold in the laundromat, out of earshot of Akechi’s first victim and the cat in a human body. It smelled of soap, the warmth of the vibrating wall of driers fighting back against the air streaming in through the empty frame.

They talked of what they remembered, as if trying to confirm their own sanity.

“But… how are you alive?” Akira finally asked.

In front of Sae, overwhelmed by a relief he could neither justify nor explain, Akira had been unable to ask, so he did so now. Akechi brushed it aside like it was nothing, like Akira hadn’t bruised his knuckles pounding against the shutter, like the gunshots hadn’t echoed through the engine room like knives between his ribs. Maybe it had been unfair of Akira to assume he could be taken down so easily, that someone with Akechi’s skill and experience had been killed by a mere cognition.

Piecing together the puzzle in that laundry room, laying out their clues like partners in a police drama, it was easy to see Akechi the detective, instead of Akechi the assassin. But most of all, it was just a relief to have someone to talk to, someone who remembered the world as he did. So, it seemed only natural that, when Kasumi called, they went together.

~

Of course he took Akechi’s deal. They’d almost died in Maruki’s palace, surviving only through teamwork and stubbornness. What chance would either of them stand alone? Akechi tore at the walls of Maruki’s perfect world with rabid anger, refusing the doctor’s soft words with venomous insults. It helped. When Akira’s resolve began to waver, when he made the mistake of thinking too hard, Akechi’s certainty pulled him back to the path.

Of course, despite all Akechi had done, Akira _had_ to work with him. It was his only chance of saving Sumire Yoshizawa. After a fruitless, frustrating week of trying to get through to The Phantom Thieves, he’d been left with no other option. He’d told them he’d be waiting for them to realize the truth, and he meant that, but Sumire couldn’t wait.

Akira had always been the type to be confident in his justice. He forged onwards regardless of his odds of success, fighting for his beliefs, and standing strong against a society that would see him beaten down. It was this certainty of conviction that drew people to him. But on the night before Maruki’s deadline, when Akechi finally made contact, Akira began to doubt himself.

Always the detective, Akechi had conducted his own investigation, but had found nothing more than what Akira had been able to piece together himself.

“Ah… I almost forgot. There’s one more thing I wanted to tell you, about the reality Maruki’s put us in.” Akechi’s voice was calm, matter-of-fact, nothing like his bloodthirsty growl in the metaverse. “It seems that Okumura and Wakaba are both considered alive by all accounts.”

“They’re not dead anymore?” The subtext was clear. Akira didn’t need to say it aloud. _Here, in this world, you never killed them._

“They aren’t mere illusions, or cognitive beings—they truly are alive and existing in this world. In fact, their deaths seem to have never taken place at all in this reality. I wonder if even they, themselves, are aware.” There was an edge in Akechi’s voice, an uncharacteristic break in form.

Akira understood why. Not only had neither of them committed any crimes here, but if he were to follow Akechi down the path of unmaking this reality, he would be collaborating with a murderer to send his victims back into their graves. What kind of monster did that make him? Was this truly about saving his friends from Maruki? Or was it simply a selfish desire to pull them back to his side?

He remembered the sharp jealousy in his gut as he approached the Shujin gates, hearing Ryuji’s familiar laugh as he bumped shoulders with the track team. In Ryuji’s perfect reality, Akira was an afterthought. He was still happy to see him, of course, had been quick to invite him along, but this Ryuji didn’t need him. This was not the Ryuji who’d said his place was at Akira’s side. He was happier, more hopeful, with none of the simmering anger that had pulled him into life as a Phantom Thief. How did he justify it to himself? In this reality had they become The Phantom Thieves just for the hell of it?

This world did not need Akira. It did not need the Trickster. Would he unmake it in his self-righteousness? Burry the truth of his own desires beneath idealism?

Akechi was still speaking. “Remaining in this Maruki-revised reality means living under this thumb forever… And I refuse to live like that. I’ll be the one to choose my path. That’s how I’ve lived up to now, and it’s going to continue from here ‘til the end.”

There was force behind those words, like Akechi welcomed that end if it meant standing against the next twisted adult trying to remake the world in their image. His words were like a slap in the face. It was embarrassing, that Akechi saw things more clearly than he did. He couldn’t let Akechi be the hero to save him and The Phantom Thieves. Akira was letting Maruki get to him. This world was nothing but a beautiful lie. It was not earned, and he had not gone to all the trouble of killing a god just to allow another to step in and take its place.

Akira affirmed his resolve and was unsurprised when Akechi responded with distrust and belittlement.

“I hope you can keep to that when we speak to him tomorrow.” There was a pause. “No matter what he says.”

“Of course. Who do you think I am?”

Akira hung up before he could hear the retort. If this mission was truly going to require prolonged interaction with Akechi, it was best he save up some banter for later.

~

As Akira got ready the next morning he couldn’t help the slight discomfort that came from Morgana’s presence in his room. Logically, he knew nothing had changed. Morgana had always been an entirely sapient male. Maruki’s power had just revealed the truth of the situation. It wasn’t that bad. Even like this, he was more comfortable around Morgana than anyone else. He’d have to be, with the amount of time they’d spent together.

Though Akira had decided to allow the others to come to the truth gradually, he couldn’t help but ask, “so, this isn’t weird for you at all, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Morgana asked, stifling a yawn. He sat curled on the couch. He was still catlike in many of his mannerisms, cute in a way that did not suit his broad, new form.

Pulling his shirt over his head, Akira only raised an eyebrow in response.

“We’re roommates,” Morgana retorted, almost offended. “We’ve always been roommates.”

“Roommates who used to sleep together?”

“I know what you mean but you don’t have to say it like that! You know my heart belongs to Lady Ann.”

It was a joke, Morgana’s response more a play at being flustered than anything else. There was truly no tension of that sort between them, something Akira was eternally grateful for.

Akira shrugged, heading for the stairs. “Sorry. I’m just getting a bit bored of waiting. It’s fine… don’t worry about it.”

There had been no need for Akira to make his own breakfast since the new year. It used to be a treat to find Sojiro in a good enough mood to have something waiting for him, but now Sojiro’s mood was never anything but good. Akira stepped off the stairs into the touching family scene perpetually occurring in Leblanc.

“Look who finally rolled out of bed!” Futaba tackled him, arm threading through his and dragging him towards one of the booths.

She was going on about some anime she’d watched last night, Wakaba looking on with exasperated love in her eyes. Sitting across from her as he picked at his food, it was hard to believe she wasn’t real. If Akira hadn’t known better, he would have truly believed she’d never been dead to begin with, that she was a real, conscious person with cognition of her own. Akechi had said as much, but if Akira thought to long about the truth of that he wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done.

Somehow, the smell of coffee and curry Akira had grown accustom to, living above the café, was even stronger that morning. It wrapped around him like a soft blanket. Everything was perfect and warm, but something about it was suffocating. It was too much. This Futaba was not his Futaba. How could she be, without the experience that had shaped her, without the trauma that had made her who she was? This Futaba didn’t need him. Here, he wasn’t her key item. He was a consumable at best. He needed to get out of here, to talk to Akechi before he lost his nerve.

After stocking up on some first aid supplies, Akira went to the stadium. The detective was already waiting for him, bundled in a scarf and sleek, brown jacket. It suited him. Like this, he was somewhere between the façade of the prince and the madness of the murderer. Akira’s steps were silent and Akechi did not immediately notice him, so he took a moment to study him without whatever mask he would don for Akira’s benefit. Akechi stared off into space, pensive if not a bit forlorn. Much like Akira himself, it was rare to see a glimpse of what lurked beneath Akechi’s many masks. Akira was sure he’d seen pieces of it, as they’d built their lie of a friendship, and it was that true Akechi that had pulled Akira to spend time with him, despite how infuriating the Detective Prince had been. He’d wanted so desperately to know that true Akechi he’d found himself sitting with the other boy in a dim jazz club fully aware he was days from putting a bullet through his head. Or maybe Akira was just a little crazy.

“Hey,” Akira greeted, not meaning for his voice to come out so gruff.

When Akechi looked at him, there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. Yes, Akechi had been a tool, but he loved the fight, loved the thrill of it. When Akira had finally gotten to see that Akechi, it had been breaking apart, crumbling under the weight of madness and grief. It seemed too good to be true that he would get this second chance now. Maybe there had been more to the relief he’d felt when Akechi walked into Leblanc than just desire for an ally.

“So, you came?” Akechi challenged. “This is almost certainly going to end in a fight… and it appears your friends aren’t going to be of any use to us.”

It was a taunt, and Akira was unsure if his response came from true belief in his friends or a need to prove Akechi wrong. “I’m sure they’ll come around.”

“Oh yes, because I’m sure you’re all just as close as you were before reality was changed.”

That stung more than he’d liked to admit. It was like Akechi could see right to the heart of his insecurities. Not deigning to respond, Akira turned away, activating the nav.

It was hard to deny, they were a good team. He and Crow moved in sync, crawling through the shadows of the gleaming, white lab without need for words. It was easier, in a way, to go undetected when their group was two instead of nine. And Crow was very good at what he did. It was obvious how he’d survived alone for years in the palaces of the metaverse, long before any of them had awakened their persona. But there was also something terrifying about a nearly empty safe room, the normal chatter replaced with a chill silence, Crow leaning against the wall as far from him as possible as they licked their wounds. There was nothing to discuss.

Of course, Maruki was waiting for them. They were less thieves and more guests accepting an invitation. Joker had thought himself prepared, but when Sumire broke down in tears, begging him not to force the truth upon her, it was almost too much to bear.

“This is a waste of time. I could take care of her for you,” Crow sneered, as the girl broke down at their feet. Joker had always thought her beautiful, but now he could see nothing but how young she was, how scared. “Though I know you’d prefer for her to leave here alive. Hurry up and do this.”

Joker wasn’t fooled. He’d heard the concern in his voice as he demanded Maruki hand her over.

Joker took no pleasure in victory against Sumire. In her, he recognized a desperation, a refusal to lose that reminded him of himself, but as Crow so aptly put it, practically giddy from combat, laughter and anger in his voice in equal measure, “…looks like you lost… The stronger truth will consume the weaker. I refuse to be controlled! Never again!”

“I don’t want to go back!” Sumire begged, like a prayer. “I can’t go back to my life in cinders!”

Like an attentive fairy godmother, the blue tentacles of Maruki’s persona lifted Sumire’s limp body into the air. Joker saw himself reflected in Maruki’s glasses. He would do anything to protect the girl in front of him. There was no limit to how far he’d go for his justice. He had respect for that, but Joker had never been the good guy. He was the rebel, an agent of chaos and change, destabilizing the structures of organized society at their foundation.

So they had traded a cruel, bored god who played chess with their lives for a benevolent parent, who would swaddle them so tightly they could not breathe. It made no difference. They were still pets to an owner. In the way Crow moved, in the way he smiled between the jagged teeth of his black mask, Joker saw traces of the starving dog who’d been thrown in the ring against him, as the last being who had tried to be their master waited for them to tear each other apart. But Crow had survived. They both had. It did not matter that their new enclosure was spacious, with ample food and a wheel on which to run, Joker refused to live in captivity, no matter how kind the master.

“Sumire…” he attempted, as her persona took shape before them. Even in anger, Cendrillon was mesmerizing to watch, dainty and fluid in her motions, though she was tinted dark with hatred. She would have her fairy-tale ending, even if she needed to destroy reality to get it. “I’m sorry… but you know this is wrong. I know you do. You’re not a doll. You don’t have to be what they make you into. You’re too strong to give in like this.”

His words rung hollow, as hanging from the tendrils that held her, Sumire did resemble a marionette. If she could hear him, she did not respond.

“I refuse to go back!” Cendrillon shouted. “I’m happy here… this is where I belong!”

There was no getting through.

“You ready?” Crow asked, Loki hovering behind him. The god of trickery and lies looked nothing but overjoyed to be here.

Joker nodded, and as their eyes met he felt their bond, their shared understanding like electricity between them.

“Let’s tear this place apart.” Joker grinned, and Crow laughed, an insane cackle that shook his whole body.

It was a competition, as it always was with them. Next to Crow, Joker was hyperaware of every movement, falling to the compulsion to show off. He smirked with extra intention, spun out of a dodge with added flare. With Satanael at his back, he was almost as he’d been when he’d killed a god. Crow had not been there to witness that, and Joker intended to make up for that now. And maybe it was just in his head, but he felt Crow was doing the same.

“Loki! To me!”

Preoccupied with Joker, Cendrillon had lost sight of the other, and Loki brought his massive sword down upon her. In the same moment, Crow lunged at Sumire, the jagged blade of his sabre already red like a premonition of the blood that would soon be upon it.

“Crow!” Joker yelled. It was an order, and a warning.

Crow snarled in frustration, but his blade collided not with the girl, but with the blue tendrils of Maruki’s persona. He cut through with some difficulty, landing in a crouch as viscus, blue fluid rained down around him. With one arm free, Sumire slumped sideways, like a broken puppet.

Letting out a strangled scream, Cendrillon drained one of the shadows dry, clutching at her head, nails digging into her face like she was trying to tear off a mask that wasn’t there. The tentacles reacted as well, though they had been still thus far, allowing Sumire’s persona to fight their battles. Her body was pulled further within them, closer to where Maruki hid, and they lashed out at Crow, too fast for him to dodge.

Joker yelled a useless warning as the tentacles sent Crow flying across the room, sprinting to where his body now lay ragdoll limp on the floor. Without thinking, Joker threw out a healing spell. He didn’t even remember switching masks. Facing down a near-legion of shadows—it seemed Maruki was summoning more, not fewer—Joker placed himself between them and Crow, as his partner got slowly to his feet.

Protected by a forest of his persona’s tentacles, Maruki snapped his fingers, and another line of shadows took form. He looked utterly unbothered, and Joker didn’t know how many healing spells he had left in him. Despite his ordinary optimism, Joker could not deny that things felt hopeless. He found his eyes drawn towards their escape route. Something flickered in his periphery and for a moment he thought he’d seen Skull; thought, for a moment, that The Phantom Thieves had woken after all, but it was nothing but a fleeting fantasy. He was alone here, aside from Crow, who didn’t look like he could take many more hits.

“You alright?” Still, he could not stop himself from asking. Then, as if just realizing it himself. “…I can’t leave her.”

Crow’s only response was a snarl. Joker wondered if he was even aware how bad he looked; if there was anything in his head save bloodlust and hatred for Maruki. The good thing about having a darker costume is that it concealed the blood well.

“Come on,” he hissed, grabbing Crow by the wrist.

Throwing a smoke bomb, he dove for the mote of greenery that surrounded the auditorium. The wall of cognitions in the stands seemed not to notice them, rictus grins facing only towards Maruki. The shadows fanned out, but there were enough dips and corners that he hoped he’d bought them at least a moment. Wedged beside a set of stairs, Joker finally let Crow go. There had been some silent resistance to their retreat, but at least he hadn’t outright fought him.

“I thought you said you weren’t running away?” Crow demanded. His talons digging into the dirt. Coiled and ready, he looked excited for the shadows to find them.

“I’m not,” Joker hissed. “Getting ourselves killed would be the same thing.”

Reaching into his tailcoat, he removed two cylinders. It was one of Takemi’s nastier concoctions. Some sort of accelerated healing stimulant. He’d resolved, early on, never Google it. Handing one to Crow, he ripped off the plastic tab, stabbing it down into his upper thigh. The needle went right through the fabric.

“Use that pretty detective head for something and think of a plan. Didn’t you volunteer as strategist?”

Some of Crow’s adrenaline seemed to have ebbed, as he slunk deeper into the shadows across from Joker. It was a relief; the glint in his eyes shifting from animal bloodlust to something colder and more calculating.

“They’re not coming,” Joker admitted, like a confession. “We—I need to figure something out. I have to.”

Crow pulled the needle out of his leg with unneeded force, peering out into the room. Maruki still stood in his spotlight, like the ringmaster of the world’s most sterile circus.

“You were really expecting them to show up? You’re more naive than I thought,” Crow finally spoke. “Your reliance on teammates has always been your biggest handicap.”

Joker chose not to respond to the provocation. This was not the time for bickering.

“It’s those tendrils,” Crow said. “Fighting her persona is a meaningless waste of energy. We need to separate them.”

Joker nodded silently.

“Are you with me? Because we don’t have time for you to mourn your deteriorating relationships.”

Another nod.

He did not need to be so cruel in his wording, but that didn’t make what he said any less correct. Joker still had to do this, if not for himself and Crow, then for the versions of his friends left behind in the other world.

“Great. I’m going to distract Maruki and the shadows. You employ some stealth and free the girl. Can you manage that? Your movement options are more versatile than my own, and if I can be quite… _loud_ , if I wish to be.”

Crow was staring, and Joker liked the feeling of his eyes in him, sharp and nearly as red as blood, but there was no time to enjoy it.

“Let’s go,” Joker ordered, gesturing to a quickly approaching pair of shadows.

Not needing to be told twice, Crow revealed himself, tearing through the bug-like creatures in seconds. He didn’t even need to summon Loki.

“Maruki!” Crow demanded attention with a skill Joker had never possessed. “If you want to play dolls with this world, you’re going to have to fight for it, you understand me? If you wish to be God you will have to get your hands dirty.” He spat the words with such disdain and contempt that despite how Joker enjoyed their rivalry, he did not envy Maruki his position.

Using his grappling hook, Joker pulled himself into the rafters, perching on the catwalks amongst the lights and caballing, some of which looked far too alive. Something between an eye and a camera blinked and twitched, more flesh than mechanism, but even it was focused on Crow.

“Akechi-kun,” Maruki placated, and despite the distance, Joker could imagine he heard Crow’s teeth grinding. “I truly believe that everyone deserves a second chance… even you. I’ve given that to you. Do you truly intend to throw it away? What about—”

“Shut up! I’m done listening to your bullshit. As long as I am alive, I will kill you, no matter what Kurusu or any of his friends want. I will never be controlled again!”

He lunged forward with lethal intent, but was blocked by Cendrillon, flanked by shadows on all sides.

Joker’s grappling hook found purchase on the railing. Directly below, Sumire’s body hung, momentarily forgotten as Maruki undertook the impossible task of combatting Crow’s anger. With his complex web of issues, Joker could see him being psychologist catnip. As Crow broke into a tirade condemning Maruki’s claim that “violence is not my thing,” Joker stepped off the edge.

“Yoshitsune!”

He tore off his mask as he fell, and the persona surged ahead of him, slicing through the tentacles in less time than it took gravity to pull Joker’s tether taught. He caught Sumire as she fell, momentum carrying them across the auditorium. With Cendrillon gone, Crow made short work of the shadows surrounding him. A great blast of Almighty light flattened the hoard, and he took off running. Joker landed in a crouch, Sumire in his arms, and Crow slid to a stop beside them.

For a frozen moment, they faced Maruki, waiting for some form of retaliation. He made no move to conjure more shadows.

“Taking care of Yoshizawa-san is more important than settling this issue right now,” he finally said, voice dripping with that infuriating kindness that sometimes sounded far too much like pity.

“Planning to run again?” Crow spat.

“We can go back to fighting if that’s what you really want… but I think you’re rather exhausted.”

It was true. Joker had nothing left. It was only through pure determination that he held Sumire’s weight. And as soon as Maruki vanished into nothing once more, Crow swayed on his feet. Staggering, he would have fallen if Joker had not grabbed him by the upper arm.

“Get off of me!” As expected, Crow pulled away, taking exactly one step before he fell to his knees.

Joker mourned the faceplant that almost was. Crow was lucky he was both too kind and too tired to laugh.

Shifting Sumire into a piggy-back position, he said, “I don’t have enough energy left to heal you, and we don’t have time for you to rest. Come here and lean on me.” Joker chose to ignore the scowl. “Sorry… but I don’t have enough hands left to carry you either, so stop being stubborn and come here.”

Somehow, miraculously, Crow complied. They made their way laboriously from the palace, an unconscious Sumire on his back, Crow’s arm heavy across his shoulders. Joker decided he had earned a very long rest.

~

Unfortunately, such things were reserved for people who had not been chosen to bear the responsibility of saving humanity… or at the very least their friends.

They’d gotten incredibly lucky Takemi hadn’t closed early tonight. She took one look at the unconscious girl slumped over his back and sighed so hard Akira had been worried she’d pass out. Another stroke of luck was that Maruki appeared to work his actualization on a case by case basis, leaving Takemi no different than how he remembered her. A few nonchalant mentions of Miwa-chan revealed that her personal hardships remained intact.

Akira took her “you’ll owe me for this” in stride, biting back a reminder that it was she who owed him, and that this was more her settling that debt than the beginning of a new one. He did not have the energy to bicker. He did not have the energy to remember what he was supposed to be to her. His masks lay in a disorganized mess on the floor, and he had no hope of sifting through them.

“Useful connection…” Akechi said, waking Akira from where he’d been dozing on the ratty, waiting room couch. “Back when I was investigating you, I remember being impressed by the web of contacts you’ve managed to accrue. A trained doctor, even one this sketchy, beats learning to stitch your own wounds closed.”

Akira grunted in response, trying to beat the sleep back into the box where it belonged. Akechi looked much better, or at least he’d had success sifting through the masks. White bandages peeked over the collar of his shirt, the only mark of their ordeal. Akechi must have noticed him staring, for he snatched his scarf off the back of the couch, quickly hiding them from view.

“She’s awake, by the way.” Akechi shot a weary look at the exam room door. “She’s done nothing but cry. I fear to think what your doctor friend believes we did to her. Though that’s your problem, not mine.”

“Of course.” Akira got stiffly to his feet. “I’ll see if I can calm her down. If she can manage to call her father I know he’ll come get her.”

“Then I better leave. I’d prefer not to sit through whatever excruciating explanation you plan to give him.”

“Wait!” Akira wasn’t sure where that had come from. He hadn’t meant to grab Akechi’s arm. “Stay. It’s uh… The trains are stopped, is what I mean. You can stay over at Leblanc if you want.”

Akechi rolled his eyes. “I am more than capable of calling a cab, and I do not relish the idea of a sleepover with you and your human cat.”

Letting his hand fall awkwardly back to his side, Akira admitted, “you’re right. I forgot Morgana started taking the couch.” He shook himself. “If he’s not going to remember, should I try to get him to pay rent?”

Though Akechi left quickly, Akira heard him snort, and the sound sent a spark of warmth through his chest.

~

In the familiar darkness of Leblanc, Akira listened at the bottom of the attic stairs. Faint, rhythmic breathing indicated that Morgana was here, and probably already asleep. That was too bad. Akira had been hoping he’d be out somewhere so that he wouldn’t have to fumble around in the dark. Though he supposed he should have expected this. The cat really valued his beauty rest.

Going to the metaverse was always tiring, but today his exhaustion was so bone-deep he doubted even Kawakami’s trained hands could purge it. It was far too late for that, anyways. Still, he had to remember how lucky he was: lucky he had Takemi, lucky that Sumire’s father had viewed him as the hero instead of the perpetrator of his daughter’s deteriorating mental state, lucky that he wasn’t facing Maruki alone, that he had Akechi watching his back. He was just so lucky.

He was just so tired.

Akira knew the position of every creaky floorboard in Leblanc. As a master thief, he was more than capable of going to bed without waking Morgana. But that would take longer, and this was his room, and Takemi had been so busy with the other two he hadn’t ask but he was starting to worry that one of his bruised ribs might be broken… and maybe if Morgana had helped he wouldn’t be back so late in the first place. Akira stepped heavily on one of the louder stairs and grabbed the cord for the lightbulb without casting a look towards the couch.

“Hey…” Came a bleary voice. “…you’re back…?”

Morgana blinked up at him, not from the couch but from under the blanket of Akira’s futon. He was wearing one of his favourite sleep shirts.

“Why are you in my bed?” Akira wasn’t angry. He was just tired, and frustrated.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back.” Morgana yawned, sitting up. “You shouldn’t stay up so late, it’s bad for your complexion.”

“Right.”

Akira began to get ready for bed on autopilot.

“Hey, are you okay?” Morgana asked. “You don’t look so good.”

“Well infiltrating a palace with two people is kind of tough, so…” It was out before he could stop himself. But hey, maybe honesty was what was needed to break his friends out of their stupor. “Akechi and I could use the help, if you’re not too busy.”

He knew he sounded sarcastic and spiteful, and he wished he didn’t. It wasn’t Morgana’s fault. It wasn’t any of their faults. He was just tired, and maybe he was spending too much time around Akechi.

“What?” Morgana suddenly looked very awake, and hope stirred in Akira’s chest despite himself.

“Yeah…” He rubbed the back of his neck, desperately searching for the dialogue option that wouldn’t push Morgana further away. “it’s kind of hard to explain, but there’s some really bad stuff going down. I—I need your help.”

“You know I’m here for you, Akira.” Morgana got to his feet, the perfect picture of concern.

“It would be easier to just show you!” Akira couldn’t fight his grin as a plan took form. It was possible Morgana’s metaverse body was unchanged, or maybe just seeing Maruki’s palace would be enough to bring him to his senses. “I’ll bring you to the palace tomorrow. We don’t have to go in far, just enough for you to give me your expert opinion. We’ll go after school, or I can even skip if—”

“No, no, you shouldn’t skip,” Morgana cut him off, shockingly casual. That was the first warning. “I know your grades are impeccable, but you shouldn’t get into the habit.”

“Right…” Despite the dropping of his stomach, Akira pushed on. “After school then. You know more about the metaverse than me, and this is beyond anything we’ve dealt with before. Please.”

“I don’t know.” Morgana sighed, moving over to the couch and flopping down. “The metaverse is interesting and everything, but I don’t know if I have the time to go just to indulge your curiosity. Lady Ann has a shoot tomorrow and I was thinking about surprising her with something sweet. Hey, do you think crepes would be okay, or is she still on that diet?”

“But I…” There was no point, Akira realized. It was like they were having two different conversations. “Fuck.”

The problem with hope was that the more euphoric the high the more painful the crash. For nearly a year, Sumire Yoshizawa had listened to people say her name and heard Kasumi. He’d been stupid to think it would be this easy.

That night, Akira woke again in the Velvet Room. Once more, he was bound and chained, separated from the creatures who sought his help, as if they were afraid of him. Stiffly, in the same automatic way that one brushed their teeth or took the train home, he walked to the bars, the clanking of the chains as familiar as the sound of his own name.

“It’s been quite some time.” Lavenza looked at him with something that could have been pity.

 _No it hasn’t_ , he almost said, but decided to remain silent, knowing there was no point in a clever retort. Instead, he wrapped his hands around the cold metal and waited for his next order.

“We have finally succeeded in reaching you.”

“What’s going on?” There was no point in beating around the bush.

“You have been imprisoned once more. This time, not by The God of Control but—” It was the same dance with different music. He did his best to listen, though he knew it did not matter.

“Though you held fast to your free will and believed in your bonds, the enemy you face is a powerful one. Perhaps it is because he is human, in a way the Yaldabaoth was not. I beg you, do not give up on what you’ve built just because the path is difficult. Do not give up on your friends. Their connections with you have been stolen from them just as surely as they have been stolen from you.”

“I know that,” he whispered. “I know they’re fighting.”

“You are on the verge of grasping a potential reality once more. Our meeting again now, within this place, is proof enough. Please, do not look away from the truth.” There was a dull, distant ringing, pressing at the back of his head like a migraine. “It seems the time has come. Please, Trickster, you need to wake up.”

“Wait! What do I do now?”

“Beings like us have no will of our own. We merely provide assistance to humans as they carry out theirs.” The sound got louder. “You must be the one to determine the path and actions to take. If the will of rebellion still thrives with you, then we should surely meet again.”

 _But_ , Akira did not say, _what if my will traps me so that there is only one choice? Is it truly rebellion if it is the only path? I can be nothing but what I am. Does that make me something more like you?_

He awoke in the dark attic, the echoing of the ringing still throbbing behind his temples. Morgana’s breathing was slow and even. Akira sighed once, letting himself slump back onto his pillow. When he went to the Velvet Room, he always woke as tired as if he had not slept at all. Finally, with the light of dawn just below the horizon, he was allowed to dream; real dreams where there were no butterflies to follow or gods to disobey. He dreamed of Akechi, though when he woke he could not remember the details, knowing only that they had been pleasant, leaving them behind as difficult as leaving the warmth of his blankets.

It was an unusually cold January in Tokyo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to _this!_ It is my great honour to contribute to the canon of shuake literature. Seriously, the fic in this fandom is top-tier. I leave my small offering at the shrine with reverence.
> 
> Despite what this chapter might lead you to believe, I have NOT fallen to my ordinary compulsion to put random fight scenes in everything (I promise). This one was an exception. I know they can get annoying so I will only use them when absolutely necessary. Also, we will obviously diverge more from how things went in the game the further we get into it.


	2. Only Human

Akechi was waiting for him when he got home from school, sitting in his old spot at the counter. The cup in front of him was half empty, and Akira figured he had about an 80-20 chance of guessing the blend. Akechi had a favourite but he wasn’t _that_ predictable.

“You came!” Akira grinned.

His text to Akechi had gone unanswered, but he figured he didn’t have much room to judge given his own habit of forgetting to answer his friends’ messages then appearing anyways. Akechi glared at him, picking up his carefully folded scarf from the counter and putting it back on.

“Close the door, you’re letting the cold in.”

“Sorry.” It was hard to sound sincere when Akira was just so happy he was here. “Shall we move to a booth? I can make you a refill first if you want? Sure, Boss makes good coffee, but I like to think I’ve improved upon it, in my own way.”

He was lucky Sojiro was in the back washing dishes, the running water drowning out his blasphemy.

Akechi rolled his eyes. “Not even Maruki could make that delusion reality.”

Unfortunately, there was not much time for banter. There were battle plans to be made. Akira tried not to look like he was enjoying himself too much. This was very serious. There were worlds to save and rebellion to do.

“What are you looking at?” Akechi accused. “Is there something on my face?”

Akira was leaning on his fist across the table, fighting a grin, and maybe he’d been staring a little, but it wasn’t his fault. Akechi got this glint in his eyes when he was scheming. It made him look alive in a way he normally didn’t. He looked downright devious.

“No.”

As if he did not believe him, Akechi rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, fixing Akira with a signature glare. The grin finally escaped, slipping through the bars of its cell and pulling half a laugh with it.

Rolling his eyes, Akechi took a compact mirror out of his pocket, examining himself in it. “If you’re quite done… I was saying that when you’re infiltrating a palace alone, stealth is paramount. With just the two of us, we won’t have the resources for you to play Pokémon with every shadow we pass. I enjoy a good fight as much as anyone, but only when it's necessary.”

“Probably a bit more,” Akira noted, earning himself another scowl. “Don’t take that the wrong way. I love that you’re showing your vicious side, and I totally get it. There’s no stress relief like tearing a shadow to pieces.”

“Oh, I know very well that you have no room to judge.” Finally, Akechi smiled back, or maybe it was more of a smirk. “I saw it in you from when I started observing your group in the metaverse. I’ve always wondered what you’d be like without the metaverse as an outlet. Maybe you’d finally lose that infuriating calm.”

“Well… if we succeeded you’ll get to find out soon enough.”

A dull echo of last night’s headache returned, and Akira looked towards the bar. Maybe he needed another coffee.

When he looked back, Akechi was scowling again. “Maybe…”

Right. Speaking of his sleep deprivation. It was probably about time he recounted what Lavenza had told him. It was never easy explaining the Velvet Room to people who had not been there, but Akechi had taken his laundry room explanation in stride.

_“Did Yaldabaoth ever speak to you?” He’d asked._

_“Nothing like what you got. Sometimes there was a voice… just a voice. I was never sure if it was my own. It didn’t sound like Loki.” A pause. “I’m glad you killed that thing. I’m no one’s plaything.”_

“So, these beings claim there is nothing they can do about Maruki?” Akechi asked. “Some guardians.”

Akira shrugged. “Guides, not guardians. Though, to be honest, I’m not sure what that means. I’ve never been sure whether they can’t help, or if they just won’t. Like it’s against some set of rules they won’t let me read. I suppose it makes sense they’d be less invested in our particular reality if they’re not members of it.”

“Hm… I suppose I can appreciate the sentiment. I accepted long ago that I am not a hero, but I can be nothing but what I am, and I would happily trade this world for a broken one where I have my freedom. To let humanity do as they will, even if it leads to _ruin_.” Akechi surrounded the familiar word with air-quotes, a reminder that Yaldabaoth had spoken to him as well. “That’s something I can respect.”

They truly were the same, Akira realized. Maybe they shared some trait that had caused them to be chosen from the sea of humanity. Maybe he’d sensed that. From the day he’d met Akechi at the TV station he’d been pulled towards him like a magnet towards metal, despite how ill-advised he knew it to be.

“Maybe we’re not fighting to reform society this time,” Akira said, “but we’re fighting for the reality we choose, the one my friends fought for, even if they’ve had that memory stolen from them.”

“Fighting to save someone else,” Akechi snorted, “even now. That’s good. Remember that. The people here are not your friends. If you choose to stay here, your true friends, the ones created by their experiences, they’re as good as dead.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far…” There was something in Akechi’s voice he could not identify, and it made him nervous. “I think they’re still in there somewhere. But you’re mostly right. I don’t intend to back down.”

“There’s something I’ve been wondering…” Akechi changed the subject, seemingly appeased by his answer. “How did someone like Maruki acquire this level of power? I’m aware he was a leading researcher in cognitive pscience, but I’ve had some dealings with those before, and Isshiki was nowhere close to being able to manipulate the fabric of reality. I shudder to think what Shido would have done with such a power.”

Akira shrugged. He’d been wondering the same thing himself. Thankfully, he was saved from having to come up with an intelligent response by the sound of his phone.

The voice on the other end was the last one he would have expected to hear.

“Good day,” said Lavenza, “this is Lavenza speaking.

“Lavenza?”

Akechi’s eyebrows shot up, but he stayed quiet.

“Your determination is impressive, even in the face of such odds. It is good to see your will of rebellion remains unfettered. We would like to aid that will, if you find it agreeable.”

“That’d be helpful.”

“I wasn’t aware such entities had access to phones,” Akechi muttered. “With timing like that, I can’t help but assume we’re being observed.”

“I did wish to speak to you both,” Lavenza said, as if to confirm his suspicion. “There’s something I wish to tell you regarding your current situation… However, I’m reaching the limits of my communication ability with this method. Let us meet in person tomorrow.”

“Where?” If there was some way—save fading from existence—to bring others into the Velvet Room, Akira was unaware of it.

“With the strength of the hold this reality’s ruler has over your world, my options are rather limited. I must request we convene at your school. Such a location should be convenient for you Trickster, at least.”

“Now that’s something I’m curious to see,” Akechi said, the phone going dead without offering further explanation. “What do these creatures look like? Are they going to be able to blend in at Shujin?”

“Uh… Lavenza is like a little girl… lots of blue. And I have literally no idea.”

It was not long after this that Morgana blew through the front door of Leblanc like a hurricane, chocolates dropped on the counter, muttering something about makeup and Ann’s shoot. When he reappeared from the bathroom, wearing a bit too much mascara for the subtle, masculine look, Akira decided there was no harm in giving it another shot.

“Hey Mona.”

From the way he jumped, it seemed he hadn’t even noticed them.

“Oh, hey Akira, and Akechi is here again I see. Listen—”

“You remember Lavenza?” he asked, as Akechi looked on curiously. He’d expressed that, from a purely scientific standpoint, he was interested in the results of any experiments, especially if the Phantom Thieves served as unwilling test subjects.

“What? Of course! But I don’t have time to talk I—”

“Yeah, yeah, I wouldn’t want you to keep Ann waiting. Do you want to come by Shujin tomorrow? Lavenza’s going to be there and I thought you might be interested in catching up with an old co-worker.”

Morgana bluescreened. His face went blank, his destination momentarily forgotten. It was like the first conversation they’d had, where Morgana had gone outside to clear his head, and Akira had still been naïve enough to believe that meant he’d gotten through to him.

“I… uh…” Morgana stammered, groping for the box of chocolates and holding it tight to his chest. “I… don’t feel like it. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. It’s just… you know.” He was already walking towards the door. “It’s always awkward running into an old boss after you’ve quit. Maybe next time… if I’m feeling up to it.”

The door slammed, the jingle of bells marking the end of the conversation.

“Quit, huh.” Akira mused, trying not to feel too disappointed. He was used to it by now.

“I told you there was no point,” Akechi said, not meanly. “You can say it as plainly as you’d like. He won’t hear you.”

~

None of the Phantom Thieves ate lunch together anymore. They had better things to be doing. Akira knew where they’d be, of course. It would take more than the entire restructuring of reality to stop him from memorizing his friends’ schedules. With Lavenza napping in the nurse’s office and at least a few minutes before Akechi showed up he figured he’d see if any of them were free.

If the awkward answers he’d gotten in the student council room were anything to judge by, Makoto was avoiding him. The same went for Sumire, who’d actually taken off running down the hall when they’d made eye contact that morning.

That left three options. Ann and Shiho were eating together in the quad, Ann nearly jumping out of her skin when Akira greeted her.

“Oh! Hey Akira… do you want to join us?” Ann said, clearly praying to every god that he would not take her up on the offer.

“Yes, please do!” Where Ann’s smile was faker than Akechi’s old one, Shiho’s was clearly genuine.

“I actually came by to tell Ann that a mutual friend of ours is stopping by the school,” Akira said. “You remember Lavenza, right? I was wondering if you wanted to come with me and say hi, since it’s been a while.”

Shiho elbowed Ann conspiratorially. “Go ahead, I don’t mind. I know better than to get involved in your _business_.”

Though he had no idea what was going on in her head, Akira could tell that Ann was genuinely afraid. She refused to meet his eyes, knuckles white on the edge of the bench. Guilt welled up in his stomach. If it was going to cause them this much psychological distress, he wasn’t sure he could keep pushing.

“It’s okay, you guys can go on without me,” Ann said. “I don’t know if I’ve told you directly yet, but I’m taking a break from _that_ kind of business, you know… now that everything’s calmed down. Sorry, Akira. Lavenza especially is a reminder of some pretty stressful stuff, and I know I’m being unfair because she helped us so much but—”

“It’s okay.” He cut her off without thinking. “Don’t worry about it. I just thought I’d ask.”

She was right, after all, Akira mused, as he headed to the third-floor classroom where the track team hung out. Fading from existence was a terrifying thing to deal with. With the amount they’d helped him already, maybe they’d earned this rest. This wasn’t their responsibility, after all. They’d only been dragged into danger because they’d been unlucky enough to make a deal with him.

Class 3B was always loud at lunchtime, that he could say with confidence, even with only two days worth of data.

One of Ryuji’s cohort noticed him before he did. “Hey, it’s Kurusu!”

Ryuji spun his chair around, the legs screeching against the tile. “Hey man! What’s up? You eating lunch with us today?”

Same script as with Ann. At least Ryuji didn’t sound like he was being forced to say it.

“Nah…” There was something about a group of guys like this that pushed Akira to change his body language, to try and make himself look bigger. Why did he give a shit what they thought of him? Yet the subconscious response was not something he could change. “Are you free? There’s someone at the school we need to talk to.”

“Yeah… sure.” Ryuji exchanged a look with the other boys. “Of course.”

It appeared, the less information he shared, the better. And the worse it made him feel. Why was he even doing this? Because Lavenza had told him to keep trying, and he wanted to show her he’d made some effort. But the more he hid from them the more it felt like manipulation.

“What’s up?” Ryuji asked, once they were out of earshot. “Thief business?”

“I’m going to check if Haru’s free. Come on. Everyone else is busy right now.”

The words burned on his tongue. Was this all it had been all along? Choosing the right words so they wouldn’t leave him? So they’d do what he needed them to do?

Haru spent her lunchtimes on the roof, tending to her garden. At least that much hadn’t changed. Yesterday, Akira had eaten up here, and she hadn’t seemed to mind the company. It was quieter than trying to fit in with Ryuji’s new friends, and it reminded him of the Phantom Thieves. It had been their first hideout, after all, right after he’d been saved from what had felt like inevitable loneliness by two kindred spirits and a talking cat. It reminded him what he was fighting for.

“Hey Haru… do you have some time?”

~

Akechi was waiting for them outside the nurse’s office. Akira was unsurprised to see he’d had no trouble sneaking in. Akira’s tracksuit fit him well. They truly were exactly the same size, as Akechi had pointed out what felt like a lifetime ago. Still, it was unusual to see him in such casual clothes. There was a novelty to it. Akira wondered if Akechi would let him take a picture.

“Two out of four,” Akechi noted. “Not bad. You did better than expected.”

“Akechi?” Ryuji stopped short, eyebrows pulling together. “He’s who you wanted us to talk to?”

Akira shook his head.

“I’m here for the same reason you are.” Akechi smiled, and it was 0% fake and 100% fangs. “I’m a member of the Phantom Thieves, aren’t I?”

For a moment, Ryuji looked like he was going to argue, then he looked very confused.

“You think on that.”

Internally, Akira begged him not to push his luck.

“Lavenza is waiting for us in here.” Akira pointed to the door. “It’s a really important conversation, so please… for me, just come and listen.”

“Is there a problem, Okumura-san?” Akechi asked, taunting.

Akira glared at him. Though, he had a point. Since arriving, Haru hadn’t said a word. She was staring at Akechi like if she looked for long enough he would dissolve into something that made sense.

“Do you have some sort of problem with me?” Akechi’s feigned ignorance was purposefully performative: wide eyes, a hand over his mouth. “But that can’t be. What have I ever done to you?”

“I—” Haru’s fists were squeezed tight at her sides, caught somewhere between crying and punching him in the face. “I have to go. I’m sorry Akira-kun.”

Before he could react, she was halfway down the hallway.

“Haru!” There was no point.

“I should probably go after her.” Ryuji rubbed the back of his head nervously. “Can’t let a girl be upset, you know? Tell me if she says anything important, okay?”

Then, they were alone. Akira sighed, shoulders slumping.

“You can blame this one on me, if it helps.” For once, it didn’t sound like Akechi was mocking him.

Akira shook his head. “I get what you were trying to do. Clearly seeing you made them feel something, it would have been a waste not to push. Maybe a little anger is exactly what they need.” He sighed again, opening the door. “If it hadn’t been you, it would have been something else.”

Maintaining her form in a reality controlled by another clearly took a toll on Lavenza. Even sitting in the seat Maruki himself had once occupied, surrounded by the cognition of bedrest, she could barely keep her eyes open.

“It is a shame…” she stifled a yawn, “that our meeting is so small, though I do appreciate your efforts, Trickster.”

“Maybe you should get on with it then,” Akechi snapped. “Akira claims you’re capable of being useful.”

If Akechi’s rudeness bothered Lavenza, she did not show it. “Yes, I did wish to speak to you about the circumstances that lead this Maruki to alter reality as you know it… as well as the true nature of his power.”

“That is very useful.” It appeared that was enough to impress even Akechi. “Whatever you are, it seems you possess an impressive amount of knowledge.”

“I admit, there will be a degree of speculation involved—but, only to a small extent. First, I will explain the situation with the current reality. I believe that Maruki has altered the cognition of the masses. In other words, it’s thought that the alterations he’s made are the results of him meddling with Mementos.”

“That makes sense…” Akechi’s eyes narrowed as he processed the information. Akira always liked that look on him, like he could see the gears turning behind his eyes, faster than Akira could hope to keep up.

“How is that possible?” Akira asked. “I thought it was Yaldabaoth who distributed the nav? Didn’t it disappear with him?”

“Mementos is the cognition of the masses given form. If that man is truly capable of controlling individuals’ cognitions… And that man were also to gain access to Mementos… It would be no surprise that he could impact everyone’s cognition and affect reality itself.”

“A unique power…” Akechi murmured. “Like mine, or his.”

Lavenza nodded. “Exactly. That man’s controlling of cognition—let’s see, why don’t we refer to his power as ‘actualization’? Most likely, that actualization is a power unique to a persona. In other words, this man named Maruki is…”

“He’s a persona user,” Akira finished for her, the pieces falling into place. “But Morgana always told us it was impossible to have a persona and a palace at the same time.” His eyes flickered to Akechi involuntarily, a gesture that mercifully went unnoticed.

“Determining when Maruki first awakened to his power is wholly impossible. However, by the time he crossed your path there’s no doubt he was making use of his actualization—although, he may have only been doing so subconsciously.”

“Using a persona in the real world,” Akechi breathed, “and to do something as twisted as what was done to Yoshizawa-san. How many others were there, I wonder? Our opponent is the most terrifying kind of monster, and I would know.” He shook himself, fear and awe swiftly replaced by detached and business-like. “Still though, even if we can assume that our deduction is correct, and he does possess a unique persona ability similar to Akira’s or my own, we still need to determine how he used that power on Mementos as a whole, rather than a single individual.”

“A single person shouldn’t be capable of that,” Akira agreed. “Changing all of reality by thinking about it… Is he even human anymore? It’s like he’s become some sort of god.”

“And what if he became such a god?” Lavenza asked.

Was that something that could happen to a person? Akira did not ask. Instead, he placed the last puzzle piece on the table, despite not wanting to look at the picture it made. Of course, this was no one’s fault but his own.

“The God of Control?”

“Indeed—the being in Mementos that you defeated with the help of your friends was a false deity that the masses deludedly clung to. It is easy to conclude that Maruki simply took over the false god’s position when it disappeared.”

He’d turned his back on the empty throne and left it sitting, like a vacuum waiting to be filled, like it wasn’t his responsibility for putting a bullet through its previous owner.

“Now, the Phantom Thieves are the ones who gained the masses support after defeating this so-called God of Control,” Akechi said, as if to rub it in. “So, it would follow that the masses would turn to the Phantom Thieves next as their saviour. In that case, why did they instead turn to Maruki, who did none of the work the Phantom Thieves did?”

Now it was Lavenza who would not meet their eyes, though her silence spoke a thousand words. Akira felt Akechi’s gaze boring into him.

“It’s most likely because…”

“We wished for it,” Akira said, and it hung heavy in the air. “Our reward for our work, a perfect society like the one we’d been trying to build, like the one doctor Maruki described. Every one of the thieves, myself included, had at least one session of counselling. He was good at what he did. That’s all it took for his ideas to take root.”

Akira bit his lip, risking a look in Akechi’s direction, expecting anger but finding only resignation.

“All along you were caught in a web,” Akechi laughed without humour, “though it wasn’t mine. At least you admit it. That’s a good first step.”

Lavenza nodded in agreement. “A desire for his actualization was seeded within your hearts. Thus, I have no doubt that it was your own desires that led to their actualization.”

“I’ll put an end to this,” Akira said. “I should have realized that by defeating The God of Control we’d won the power to shape society. That was the goal, after all. I was just supposed to be strong enough not to use it for our own reasons. I’m sorry Lavenza, I failed you.”

Lavenza looked at him with what could have been pity. “You haven’t failed me, my dear Trickster, not yet. I’m sorry that the road you walk must be such a difficult one. Sometimes, there is no reward for doing the right thing.”

Blame now correctly assigned, Lavenza continued with her explanation. Mementos and reality, fused by Yaldabaoth, now attempted to return to their initial state. Despite having witnessed none of it himself, Akechi kept up easily, asking all the right questions and understanding the difficult concepts without issue. At the moment Maruki’s actualization was slow, case-by-case, but if they could not stop him in time, reality would merge with Mementos once more, and they would be powerless under his control. It was just another deadline. It wouldn’t have felt like a proper infiltration without one. They had one month. One month to stop a god, or they would never again awaken to reality. Sounded about right. Par for the course, at this point.

When Lavenza turned back into a butterfly, leaving their reality in his hands once more, Akira was again alone with Akechi.

“Please Trickster,” she’d said, as she faded into blue light, “show me the path that you choose for humanity.”

The silence stretched. “Does this mean I’m supposed to be some sort of god?” Akira asked. “That’s… I never wanted that. Controlling society myself, that was never what it was about.”

“Shut the fuck up you narcissistic idiot. You and your stupid friends aren’t gods, and if you tried to be I’d kill you myself.”

“Thank you,” Akira said, and he really meant it. He’d never been as grateful for anything as he was in that moment that, despite everything, Akechi was still here at his side. “I’ll need to hold you to that.”

~

They returned to Maruki’s palace after school. There was no reason to wait, with the deadline breathing heavy down their necks. Through sterile halls and cluttered warehouses, they kept to the shadows, only engaging when necessary. It was still electrifying, working alongside Crow in his true form, but Joker pushed such feelings to the back of his mind. It would not do to get distracted.

“You’ve gotten stronger,” Crow noted, after Joker cut down two shadows with a single move, ending the fight as quickly as it had begun.

Joker winked, spinning his knife around a finger before sheathing it. “You’re not trying to back out of our rematch, I hope.”

Crow snorted. “On the contrary. If anything, a one-on-one fight would have been unfair, the way you were before, and I’ve moved past wanting you dead.”

“Keep saying such sweet things and I’m going to melt.”

Another snarl. “Come on. We have to keep moving.” A friendly snarl, Joker decided. He was starting to get better at determining these things.

He loved to watch Crow move, content to follow instead of lead, as was his ordinary preference. There was something hypnotizing about how he almost faded into the shadows, his dark costume rendering him nearly invisible. Joker remembered something he’d learned some time ago, about why animals had stripes. If he remembered correctly, it worked on the same principle as camouflage. Even something as bright as a tiger could fade into the foliage of its habitat, invisible to its prey until it was too late. A solid colour, even a dark one, stood out like a silhouette against the mottled texture of reality.

Joker had to work hard not to lose him in the darkness. Maruki’s warehouse was large and twisting, a disorganized mess of nothing, in stark contrast with the rest of the laboratory. It was for this reason that he did not take his eyes off Crow, staying as close as he could. Sometimes so close he could have reached out and touched the tattered end of his cape, like a mockery of the ideal hero his false costume had represented. It was difficult not to lose Crow in the darkness, so there was no choice in the matter. Joker watched the way his body moved under the stripes and thought of tigers.

Given their disastrous previous visit, the infiltration went rather well. They encountered one particularly nasty breed of shadow: large, metallic, and oozing nuclear energy, but without Maruki constantly summoning reinforcements, there was time after a fight to rest and regroup. They were making good progress, or so it seemed.

When they hit a wall, they hit it hard, reaching not only an impasse, but one guarded by two particularly nasty shadows. They’d been getting tired anyways, pushing their luck, and that luck crumbled beneath their feet, leaving them beaten down, injured, and facing an impassible wall of caballing, reaching up from the depths of Mementos.

~

“You didn’t need to take that hit for me,” Akira said. “I had a few more left in me and you, clearly, did not.”

“Sure you did.” Maybe Akechi was too tired to snarl properly, or maybe, just maybe, the walls of hostility were beginning to lower.

Leblanc’s attic was quiet. Downstairs, Sojiro was presumably closing up, or at least he had been when Akira had last gone downstairs. Maybe, in a different world, Sojiro would have made a comment about Akira bringing a friend by so late, but in this one all he’d gotten was a wave and a smile.

“I’m sorry… please forgive me.” Akira slumped dramatically against the back of the couch. “You’re right. Without your noble sacrifice I’d probably be dead. So that like probably evens things out… or something.” He straightened back up. “Is that what you needed to hear? I don’t want to damage your fragile ego.”

“Trust me, Kurusu, I have less ego left than you might think.”

Here, steeped in that post-metaverse exhaustion, Akechi looked miraculously unguarded. The gash on his chest had been pretty nasty—and entirely unnecessary though Akira did not intend to continue the argument—and with Takemi’s doors closed earlier than usual he’d agreed to stop by Leblanc to patch up, though he had refused Akira’s help past passing him supplies from the first-aid kit. Still, for once, the infernal scarf had been discarded, sitting atop his jacket on the desk, and he hadn’t completely buttoned up his shirt to cover the bandages.

Things were good between them… comfortable. Morgana was elsewhere, and the heater kept the attic warm, though the frost on the window had grown so thick it hid the street from view. The table was a mess of medical supplies and plates, reminiscent of a Phantom Thieves meeting, despite the diminished numbers. Akira had cooked for Akechi before, of course, given he’d become a regular customer at Leblanc during his stake-out days, but there was something more intimate about eating curry side by side on Akira’s ratty couch rather than within the structure provided by the café.

“What happened to Akira?” Akira asked. “You called me by my first name earlier today, remember?”

“Did I?” Akechi leaned comfortably on the armrest, studying Akira’s room clinically, like there was still some mystery here he wished to solve. “It must have slipped out.”

“You can keep doing it if you’d like. I don’t mind. It’s actually a bit weird to hear you switch back.”

Akechi didn’t say anything one way or the other. He was staring at the window now, clearly deep in thought. There wasn’t much of a view right now, but there was something hypnotic about the swirling patterns of ice crystals.

“Can I call you Goro?” He regretted it almost immediately. The last thing he wanted to do was cross Akechi’s boundaries and lose the last person he could talk to. “I mean… we’re a team now, and it’s not like I call any of the other thieves by their family names.”

“I don’t care. Do whatever you want.” There wasn’t much bite to it. Finally, Goro turned back to face him. There wasn’t much room on the couch, and for the first time Akira registered how close they were. In this lighting, Goro’s eyes were less blood and more chocolate. “You know… I thought it would be more satisfying.”

“What?” Maybe Akira hadn’t been listening closely enough. He’d been thinking about chocolate.

“I was so jealous of you. It made me feel so inadequate that you had things that I didn’t. Seeing how fragile it all truly was… watching them toss you away now that they no longer need you. I thought I’d feel some vindication, some satisfaction, but I don’t… not really.”

“Thanks.”

It was very much like Akechi to twist the knife. Suddenly, the air between them no longer felt so warm, and Akira moved as far as the arm of the couch would allow. The fondness he’d been feeling, though not replaced, was buried under anger. Akechi was fascinating and smart, attractive and complex, but he was also spiteful and cruel, and he wouldn’t know friendship if it punched him in the face. It wasn’t their fault they’d been taken in by Maruki. He understood. Sure, it was frustrating at times, but he got why it was so hard for them to wake up.

He wanted so desperately to believe it wasn’t true, what Akechi had said, but the truth was he’d had similar thoughts himself. He was angry because he’d been having a good night and it hurt to be reminded.

“It wasn’t my intention to taunt you,” Akechi said, and it almost sounded apologetic. “I just think it’s unfair, and maybe I am projecting a little. I know how it feels to be a tool, to be useless without a job to do.”

“That’s not how they see me,” Akira hissed. “We’re friends, not that you’d understand that.”

“Yes, of course. The Phantom Thieves are far too kind to be self-aware.”

Silence stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but Akira still did not like it. He spun his phone on his finger absentmindedly, not bothering to unlock it. There were a few messages from friends, but he’d ignored them, knowing he was too tired to go out.

“It’s not their fault,” he finally said.

“Everyone deserves to be responsible for the manner of their own existence. Who are you to rob them of that?”

“It’s just…” There were some thoughts he struggled to put into word, even for himself, but of everyone, Akechi was the only one who might understand. “Do you ever think about destiny? About what it really means that we were chosen?”

“All the time, unfortunately. In fact, I blame my childish fixation on philosophy partially on the voices in my head introducing such concepts. Though, at this point, I’ve cycled through the same series of conclusion enough times I must admit I’ve tired of it. And, for me at least, there are a whole new collection of existential terrors to ponder.” Akechi laughed. Akira didn’t get it. “But enough about that. We were talking about you.”

“Sometimes I think about what would have happened if I’d been just a few minutes later walking home that day, who I’d be if I’d never met Shido and gotten my criminal record, but that person doesn’t even make sense, do they? I had to come here, because I had to get my persona, and meet you, and put a bullet through a god. Things much wiser and more powerful than us knew that long before I did. I don’t believe in total determinism, don’t misunderstand. I don’t think the outcome of our game was predetermined—”

“Good. So we agree on that much.”

“I don’t want to shift responsibility. I made the decisions I made, and I have to live with the consequences, but I had to be there to make them. Could it have been anyone else? My gut says yes, of course, but if that’s true then where are they? If I’d failed back then, The God of Control would still reign over society, and if I fail now, no one else will be there to fix my mistakes.”

Even to himself, it sounded a bit like he was babbling nonsense, but the way Goro was looking at him made it easy to continue. It felt as if he held his whole attention, like Akira was the most interesting person in the world, like all the things he’d said as the Detective Prince hadn’t just been pretty lies.

“If it had to be me… just like I think it had to be you, then the Akira who never went to Tokyo can’t exist. It’s not just a what-if, it’s null. I was born to be what I am… The Trickster, whatever the hell that means.” A pause. “I’m lying. I know exactly what it means. It means I was always supposed to drop into Tokyo like a bomb and disrupt all the stupid, choking systems that outlived their usefulness. I was made to change everything I touch. I don’t even mean to, most of the time. Don’t get me wrong, the things I destroyed deserved to get destroyed.” He swallowed. “It’s just… the other thieves… they’re just normal people. They’re amazing people, and they would have done amazing things without me, and I never could have done it without them… You’re right I—I’m nothing by myself, but they’re only part of this because I chose them, because I needed them. I disrupted their lives, just like everything else. For the better, I hope, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When I look at myself from an outside perspective, sometimes I don’t even feel human.”

He took a breath, his throat a little soar from the torrent of words. He wasn’t sure of the last time he’d talked this much. Having someone to listen to him had helped put his thoughts in order, to understand the reality of what he was feeling for the first time. Still, the mood had grown so heavy it was oppressive. Goro studied him with a furrowed brow.

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” he said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, “is that’s why it feels like the only one of the thieves I have the right to be mad at is Morgana, you know?”

“Be careful thinking like that,” Goro warned. “You, of all people, should understand the power of cognition.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re like me, so I guess I was wondering if you’d ever felt…”

“Inhuman?” Goro asked, and there was laughter in his voice. “I got the meta-nav when I was fifteen years old, and for all I knew I was the only one on the planet with a persona. I was convinced I was either a monster or a god. Which one depended on my mood. Then… there you all were, the most human people I’d ever met, and I wasn’t sure what I was anymore.”

Akira wanted to apologize but knew enough not to. Who was he to complain when, of the two of them, Akira’s path had been so, so much easier? This horrible, chocking isolation, this feeling of distance from everyone else, Goro had been dealing with it all along, and even now Akira wasn’t truly alone.

“I may just be saying that which I wish to be true,” Goro continued, “but we both know there’s a lot of power in that. And you look plenty human to me.”

He flicked Akira’s glasses, and when Akira flinched he laughed, picking up one of his particularly out-of-place curls and making a show of examining it. Goro was right. In that moment, Akira felt overwhelmingly, embarrassingly human. Despite his mastery of the poker face, Akira felt his cheeks flushing slightly. It was quite warm in the attic, after all, and Goro was rather close.

It was one thing to develop a crush on the charming TV boy, to enjoy a bloodless game of cat and mouse with the detective—that may have been more flirting than information gathering—while pretending he was in some cheesy movie. That, Akira decided, had been okay. This was decidedly not. Because the feelings he had for Goro now, entirely aware of his true nature, ran much deeper. They were the kind built through hardship and loss, and a bone-deep understanding. Now, looking at Goro’s fingers, he knew exactly how much blood they had spilled and still wanted to put them in his mouth.

This was not okay. Not because Goro was some unforgivable evil. Goro had said it himself; he’d been fifteen and alone when he’d been set on his path, and Akira was not so narcissistic as to believe with certainty that he would have faired better. No, it was not okay because if he fucked up the tenuous relationship they had managed to build, Akira would be completely alone. Goro was all he had, and there was no way to reliably prove that wasn’t why he liked him in the first place, that Akira wasn’t pathetically clinging to the one person who hadn’t abandoned him. Goro deserved better than that.

Still, despite the gut-punch that was the realization of his feelings, Akira was sure of one thing. He didn’t want this moment to end. He didn’t want Goro to leave. If he could only think of something to say… A thread of conversation interesting enough to trap his attention, or an offer of the couch for the night. Maybe they could go to the bathhouse.

The moment shattered like ice-covered glass. Not by any fault of Akira’s, but by the clanging of a bell and the sound of feet on the stairs, though Sojiro had left for the night some time ago. Touching knees pulled apart as Morgana’s singsong greeting sliced through the warm silence.

“Hey Akira! Are you still up?” He was all smiles, cheeks flushed from the cold and snowflakes in his dark hair.

When he skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs, Goro was already reaching for his coat.

“Oh… I didn’t realize Akechi was over. That explains why you weren’t answering your texts.”

Akira hadn’t expected to be so mad. It crept up on him, like his anger often did, except this time its target wasn’t some corrupt adult. Morgana was his friend. He tried to hold the lid, but the seams of the box were leaking.

“I’ll head out.” Goro started with the scarf, tartan concealing the vulnerable strip of skin above his collarbone which Akira realized, too late, that he’d been staring at. “I wouldn’t want to keep your couch from you.” The words were directed at Morgana.

“Wait…” He wasn’t sure what he intended to say.

Goro realized this quickly, rolling his eyes and continuing his path to the stairs. “It’s probably for the best we take a rest day tomorrow. Though, if you find you’re itching to head to Mementos, I could probably be convinced.”

“Uh… Yeah.”

Morgana grabbed Akira’s phone off the table, unlocking it without asking.

Goro’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Goodnight… Akira.”

Then, he was gone, leaving Akira not alone, but certainly feeling like it. His own “goodbye” came too late.

Something snapped.

“Why are you here, Morgana?”

Morgana wasn’t like the others. He was like him. He had no existence outside this story, no purpose now that Yaldabaoth was gone. He’d been made from humanity’s hope to be Akira’s guide, so why did he feel more like a leech?

“What are you talking about?” Morgana was texting with one hand, gathering things for the bathhouse with the other. Everything was Akira’s, he didn’t have a thing to his own name.

“In my room,” Akira clarified. “Using my stuff.”

This got his attention. His inhumanly blue eyes trapped Akira in his mournful gaze, looking for all the world like a half-drowned kitten.

“Wh—what are you talking about? I live here. I… I’ve always—I’ve lived here for a long time. Are you feeling okay?”

“No, not really. Give me back my phone.”

Morgana complied. “I was just in the group chat… since I don’t have my own phone, and you weren’t answering anyways. Ann and I ran into some of the others after the shoot and we started making plans for tomorrow and I was supposed to ask you to come… Why are you acting like this?”

“Figure it out.” Akira didn’t want to be so mean. He hated the way Morgana’s expression crumpled, but the box had broken now, and there was nowhere else for the anger to go. He was just so frustrated, and maybe if he pushed just a little harder something would give. “And why don’t you get a phone then? Humans have their own phones. Humans have their own apartments and their own stuff, and they don’t beg for table scraps in someone else’s café. You may have apposable thumbs now but you’re still acting like a pet.”

“And you’re acting like a jerk!” Akira could have sworn that, just for a moment, Morgana’s voice went up an octave. “If you wanted some alone time you could have just told me, and I’d have slept over somewhere. I’m sorry for breaking up whatever the hell that was, but you don’t have to freak out at me.”

If Akira was any less frustrated, or any less skilled at managing his facial expressions, that might have been enough to get him flustered, but as things were, the insinuation ran off him like melting ice dripping down the window.

“That’s not what this is about. I’m just a little annoyed because we made a deal… I take care of you and you help me with Phantom Thief stuff, and you’ve decided to stop holding up your end.”

Shoulders slumping, Morgana’s righteous indignation drained as quickly as it had appeared. “You’re really serious? You’re kicking me out?” Toiletries were placed back on the table and Morgana slumped heavily onto the couch.

“Mona…” Guilt hit Akira hard. He’d gone too far.

“It’s… I’m fine. I can stay with Haru again. It’s just… I chose to stay here. I came back because I didn’t want to abandon you. If you want me gone, I’ll go.”

“Good. I think I could use some space.”

They fell into silence then, as Akira began to gather up his own bathing supplies. Morgana seemed to have abandoned the idea, sitting on the couch with his knees pulled up to his chest. With the argument over, Akira’s anger was slowly draining. All that was left in its place was exhaustion and guilt.

They spoke at the same time:

“Listen… Morgana…”

“Akira—I…”

Akira stopped, tried to soften his features, and sat down next to the boy who was not a cat. “Go ahead.”

“I was just wondering… Do I need to leave tonight? Because you’ll have to let me borrow your phone so I can call Haru. I don’t want you to think I’m a charity case. I can take care of myself, but—”

“Of course not.” Increasingly horrified by his own outburst, Akira attempted to explain. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. I like having you as a roommate. I was only trying to make you think about why you’re here in the first place… Why you started living with me at all. I just want you to remember.”

“That’s good.” Morgana sounded relieved. “It is pretty late. How about this? I’ll talk to Haru tomorrow and see what she says. Unless she has something going on I’ll leave, and you can have the attic to yourself. Does that sound good?”

Akira wasn’t sure how to feel. The space and privacy were tantalizing, as was the freedom from this constant, walking reminder of the perfect lives he’d be stealing from his friends. But on the other hand, it didn’t sound good at all. He stayed quiet, only nodding.

“Great.” There was a dryness to Morgana’s voice, but he didn’t sound mad, just annoyed. “Everyone’s meeting up at the diner after school. Don’t flake out, okay? We need to talk to Haru.”

Maybe seeing his friends wasn’t such a bad idea. He needed a break from the metaverse anyways, and he missed them terribly. If he took a less direct approach, didn’t push them away with truths they weren’t ready for, maybe there was still hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out a bit longer than I like them to be. Probably because this is a slow chapter and I wanted to make sure enough happened lol. I know this fic has kind of a slow pace but things will pick up, I promise!


	3. Snow and Fluorescents

The days of cramming into one booth at the diner were far behind them. Their group—now nine strong with the addition of Shiho—spilled across two rowdy tables, Yusuke’s chair pulled up awkwardly at the end of theirs. Akira sat pinned between Ryuji and the wall. Ryuji, always so tactile, was in a constant state of shaking his shoulder or ruffling his hair, practically vibrating with excited energy, and Akira hadn’t thought about the _situation_ in almost half an hour. It probably helped that both Morgana and Shiho were sitting at the other table.

Ryuji was talking loudly about his results at the last track meet, and about this party one of the other guys was going to bring him too, and Akira listened happily as Futaba pilfered fries from his plate across the table.

“So,” Makoto asked. Always the public speaker, her voice drew their attention without much effort. “Is it true that Morgana is moving out of Leblanc?”

Reality—or to be more specifically, the lack there of—crashed back in, Akira shaking himself free from the pleasant daydream.

“I guess…” Akira kept his voice low. Haru and Morgana were sitting side-by-side in the other booth, hopefully out of earshot. “I’m not going to force him out, but the attic is a bit cramped for two full-grown people, you know?”

Ryuji nodded along like there was nothing there to consider.

“For real, man. I can’t imagine having to share a room with someone. A guy needs his privacy, you know? I don’t know how I’m going to survive university.”

“You could request a single room,” Yusuke suggested. “That has worked for me in my current dorms. It is difficult for me to confine my art to its own space, something I doubt any roommate would find amicable.”

“It does make sense,” Makoto said, her voice foreshadowing a but. “Haru has a lot of space, and she’s been lonely since…” Akira sat up straight, leaning towards her so abruptly his fork went clattering across the table. The confusion on her face passed quickly, however. “S—since her father travels so much and she won’t be able to join him until she finishes high school. But if you don’t want him to move out you should tell him, Akira.”

She fixed him with a concerned look. Makoto: always so perceptive, just not perceptive enough. How much of it was willful ignorance, he wondered, then quickly smothered the thought. This wasn’t their fault. They were Maruki’s victims, just as much as everyone else in this reality, and it fell to Akira to rescue them.

 _Or they made their choice_ , something whispered, _how unlucky for them that I am here._

“Of course I’m fine with it,” Akira lied. “I’m the one who brought it up, after all. It will be easier… while things are like this. I just hope I didn’t hurt his feelings.”

“Eh, he can take it.” Ryuji punched him in the arm. “Don’t worry so much, man.”

It hurt being here. The rush he’d felt at Makoto’s slip-up had left him drained, and Akira slumped forward, resting his head on his hand. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

He shoved his leftover fries across the table. “Here.”

“Come on,” Ryuji wined, “giving them away without even asking me?”

“You do eat quite a lot for someone so small,” Yusuke noted, freakishly long arms reaching easily over Makoto to steal one of his fries from Futaba.

“Back Inari! Back I say! I get them because I’m the favourite.”

It burned like spicy food coming back up. How could he take this from them? Who was he to decree the state of the world? No better than Maruki. No different. **_No._** No, he was different. He was fighting for reality, the same reality they’d all fought for together. He was doing this for them… It wasn’t for himself, no matter how selfish he felt. If it were it wouldn’t hurt this much.

He was no one’s pet.

He was much more than that…

_He was…_

~

They went to the arcade after, one big, happy friend-group with nothing holding them together aside from Maruki’s perception of how they must have once been. Here, they all had something else outside the echo of the Phantom Thieves. Then, was this for Akira’s benefit? Or did some of the others hold enough fondness for what they’d been for Maruki to bother recreating it? It was certainly no longer the blood of their covenant, formed between lost children seeing something familiar in the eyes of another for perhaps the first time in their lives.

The air was too warm for all the winter coats. It was dark aside from the coloured lights and flickering screens, the whirs and beeps of the games joining with the cacophony of youthful voices—too many songs at once. It smelled of sweat and plastic, the tiled floor slick with melted snow.

Akira watched Ann and Ryuji play Gun-About with a blank expression. There were melted snowflakes on his glasses.

“Hey there!” A warm body collided with his side, Futaba wrapping her arms around one of his. “You look kind of out of it. What’s wrong? Zombie parasite growing in your brain?”

He tousled her hair through her beanie. “Sounds plausible.”

“Come on.” Without waiting for a response, Futaba began towing him through the crowd.

“Where are we going?”

“Outside. Too much gamer stink in here.”

They sat on the stoup, as out of the way as they could manage, looking out at the familiar lights of Central Street. It was barely Par dinnertime, but it got dark so early in the winter. Futaba snuggled into him, her little mittens still digging into the arm of his jacket. Their breath condensed into clouds, floating up and away.

“So spill… what’s wrong? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because you’re good at pretending, but you’re talking to a master of social engineering. And I can always recognize a vulnerability. I’ll get your angst and your bank password too.”

Though it was no longer true, Futaba still felt like his surrogate little sister. She felt more like family than his blood parents and, absurdly, Akira suddenly found himself thinking about his real siblings. It was not often than he thought of his life before Tokyo, forgetting he hadn’t sprung from the ether on the train ride here.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course, dummy! That’s why I’m asking.”

Akira hesitated. This was a mistake. He would just get his hopes up again, but Futaba was so sincere, and so sharp, and she’d seen through a false reality once before.

“Are you sure? I don’t think you do… not truly.”

Futaba’s eyes were wide behind her glasses. “Dude. What’s wrong?”

“You remember the Phantom Thieves, right?” At this point, there were no guarantees.

“Yes…? Wow, Mona was right. You are acting super weird.”

“Do you remember why you joined?”

“Duh!” Futaba laughed. “What’s going on? Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Why?” There was silence between them, punctuated by the sound of the arcade spilling out through the half-open door. “Why did you join?” He clarified.

“Be—because we had the power to change society.” Futaba was shaking. It wasn’t even that cold, barely below freezing. “I… I wanted to help people because we could; j—just like everyone else.”

“You know that’s not true.” He looked at her, so small and fragile, but brilliant, the smartest person he’d ever known. The lie was cracking like ice on the surface of a pond, fissures spreading slowly outwards, moving towards a breaking point. “I’m sorry, Futaba. I’m really sorry, but you said you’d never run from the truth again.”

Futaba burst into tears.

“I know it hurts, but please try to remember. For your mother’s sake.”

She clutched her head. Staggering to her feet, she shoved him away. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

~

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

They were all outside. It was snowing, light flurries that melted as soon as they contacted skin.

Akira tried to remember if he’d ever seen Ryuji’s anger directed towards him before. It was nice to see it again, despite finding himself the target. The two of them stood some distance away from the group. Ryuji had pulled him away as Futaba, in turn, was pulled beneath Makoto’s wing. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what they thought he’d said, what Futaba pretended to hear. He just looked at his best friend, pleading with his eyes.

Something in Ryuji softened. “If you’re going through some shit we’re here for you, but don’t take it out on Futaba, okay?”

The others stood awkwardly in a clump, struggling with how to approach Futaba, who sobbed into the front of Makoto’s jacket.

“Right.” He choked out. “I’m sorry. I won’t try again.”

He was an idiot. The definition of insanity was trying the same thing over-and-over and expecting different results. Though he’d mostly tuned out Lavenza’s torrent of exposition, Akira remembered one particular detail. If Maruki’s reality was undone, things would return to how they should have happened. What occurred here would go unremembered. When he stole their perfect worlds, at least they wouldn’t know to blame him on the other side. Akira resolved then to stop trying. He and Goro would deal with Maruki. He didn’t have to torture his friends in the process.

~

Akira took the train to Kichijoji on autopilot. He didn’t have a destination in mind but couldn’t bring himself to go home to the empty attic. He had no expectations.

The bench onto which he slumped was not far from Penguin Sniper. Out from beneath the awning of the shopping district the snow fell slowly. Tilting his head back, he breathed, flurries gathering on his glasses. He let his eyes slide closed.

When Goro found him, he didn’t say anything at first, just sitting down next to him on the cold metal.

“Jazz club?” he finally asked.

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

~

By some miracle, there was a live singer that night, her crooning voice a beautiful distraction from the choking feeling in his chest. Perhaps Maruki was a merciful god. Goro had ordered them both something warm with a lot of whipped cream. He would have been disappointed by its mundane appearance if it wasn’t for the addition of a healthy number of purple sprinkles.

Akira recounted what had happened like giving a report. No emotion dared show itself on his face, but he took comfort in the fact that there was no way that was enough to fool his conversation partner.

“You’re too soft,” Goro said, delicately removing a stray dab of whipped cream from his lip with a folded napkin. “I don’t believe this false reality can be gently peeled away. It must be shattered, and it will be painful. You cannot both shelter your friends from the truth and wake them up to it.”

“I know,” Akira muttered. “I understand that now. I just…can’t. I can’t be the one to do that to them. So sorry, I guess we’re on our own.”

Goro shrugged. “If that’s your decision I will respect it. Having the rest of the Phantom Thieves might make our job a little easier, but as a collective they’re about a useful as you are individually, and that’s being generous.”

“That’s not true,” Akira muttered.

The drink was good. It was somewhere between a virgin Irish coffee and hot chocolate, but it was very difficult to drink without ending up with whipped cream on your nose or somewhere equally embarrassing.

“If you change your mind let me know. I might be of some use, though even saying this, I know you’ll never be willing to do what would need to be done.” Goro paused, seeming to size Akira up. “Of course… there might be entirely legitimate reasons one could have for not shattering the lie. Who knows how someone might react, when faced with the truth? Though the Phantom Thieves aren’t doing anything for us in their current state.”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying half the time,” Akira admitted. “I like listening to you talk, though, even when it goes over my head.”

“Yes… I got that sense. Even back before everything. Pretty face with nothing behind the eyes.”

“Hey! I’ve got plenty going on. There’s just a threshold to my ability to parse philosophical bullshit.”

Goro sighed, letting his chin rest on his palm. “You may be right. There’s no point in thinking about it too hard. There is no way to be certain of any objective truth while we’re stuck in this place. I’ll just drive myself insane.”

“You’re worried there might be things we’re not seeing?” Akira realized, with a start. Now that was a terrifying thought.

“Like I just said, there’s no point thinking about it.” Goro looked away, studying the singer as she began a new song. “For curiosity’s sake, you should check back in with Isshiki’s daughter. She’s smarter than most. Perhaps what you said was enough to shatter her lie. Though, from what I’ve gathered by reaching out to Yoshizawa-san, even if one is forced to face the painful truth, they may still choose to regress.”

“She was avoiding me,” Akira lamented. “You think I’d be used to people being afraid of me at this point, but I still hate it.”

“Alas even the best masks in the world aren’t enough to remove prior knowledge… Though you shouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. She seems to have returned solidly to being her peppier sister. It’s disappointing. She had potential.”

“I just hope Futaba won’t be afraid of me. Call me weak if you want, but it’s hard to avoid her living at Leblanc and of everyone… I don’t know. It hasn’t even been a year, but she really does feel like my little sister.” It felt nice just to talk. It was strange. Historically, there was nothing Akira hated more than talking about himself. “Did you know I have actual siblings? Well, kind of.”

Goro perked up. “No. I know absolutely nothing about you. I’ll be honest, your air of mystery is what drew me to you in the first place. Well, aside from your blatantly obvious identity as a phantom thief.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that I shouldn’t tell you.”

“Oh no. The mystique has worn off. Now it’s just a little annoying, given how much of my past you’ve managed to pry from me.”

Akira wasn’t sure what had come over him. Maybe Maruki had put something in the air. The only time he’s spoken about his previous life to the thieves was when he’d been directly asked, and even then he’d gotten very good at steering the conversation back onto them. It just hadn’t felt relevant. Even more so now that he knew his early life had just been means to the ends of getting him here.

Still, he said, “you’re right. I suppose fair is fair. My mother is also dead. There, was that a fair trade?”

Goro reeled back like he’d been slapped. “And you never bothered to mention that? Even when we were…”

Akira shrugged. “It’s not the same. I don’t even remember her. It was nothing like what happened to you, so I wasn’t going to make it about me when what you clearly needed was someone to listen to you.”

Goro scowled. “Don’t tell me what I need. And if you’re lying it is in very poor taste. I dug into your arrest and remember seeing mention of two parents.”

“Wow… really couldn’t deal with the mystery, huh? For a fake detective you sure did a lot of investigating.” It was a horrible invasion of privacy, but Akira couldn’t say he was surprised. “I have a stepmom,” he explained. “She’s the only one I remember. I have two younger half-siblings: a brother and a sister.”

“R—right, that makes sense.” Goro’s eyes were wide. Akira really seemed to have caught him off guard.

“Surprised I have an actual backstory?” he asked. “It’s weird to think about my life before. It means I didn’t just pop into existence to fuck up Shido’s plans. It makes me sound like a real person… Maybe that’s why I’m telling you.”

“How did it happen?” Goro asked. “Your mother? Fair is fair, right? I never meant to tell you how she was driven to suicide by the shackle of a child Shido gifted her with…” His father’s name dripped with venom, “but I did anyway. You tend to have that effect.”

“Fair is fair,” Akira repeated. “Alright. I killed her.”

Goro stared at him, open-mouthed, speechless for once. Akira was doing it on purpose, as cruel as that sounded. In truth, the topic didn’t cause him much pain. He didn’t mind talking about it. It was just pointless, so he usually didn’t bother. But Goro had wanted him to open up, and Akira was in a spiteful mood. He wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Akira had long been aware of the similarities between them. It was time Goro learned the extent of it.

“She died in childbirth,” Akira explained. “I don’t actually feel guilty about it or anything, but saying that is technically accurate. I know it’s less my fault than anyone who was alive at the time; like the doctors, or my father, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“You’re…” Goro began. “You’re not quite what I thought you were. I suppose fair is fair. I tried to weaponize my stories against you.”

“I remember. You thought I’d be susceptible to a sob story, you thought you were doing it on purpose, but I figured you really did need someone to talk to.”

“Always one step ahead of me…” Goro muttered.

“You were lucky I already liked you.”

Akira remembered the bathhouse; alone with Akechi, steam the only thing between them. He wondered if he’d be willing to go again. Maybe after their next infiltration.

“Were you blamed for it?” Goro asked, uncharacteristically cautious, “by others?”

“Not really.” Akira shrugged. “Not in any way I could prove. Like I said, my childhood wasn’t all that bad. I didn’t want to make a false comparison to what you went through. My father’s pretty _strict_ , but you were in the foster system. It’s not really comparable.”

Goro stayed silent, as if waiting for him to continue. Absurdly, Akira did. This wasn’t how it usually went. Was this how it felt to talk to him? He’d always speculated that his ability to get people talking was somewhat supernatural in nature. Maybe that was an ability that Goro shared.

“I worry about my siblings,” he admitted. “He doesn’t let them have phones. It’s not as bad as it sounds. They’re a lot younger than Futaba. Eiji is eleven and Sayaka is only eight, but it means I haven’t been able to keep in touch. I haven’t talked to them since I was sent to Tokyo.”

“I can’t say I relate. In the system, it’s everyone for themselves. No good would have come from feeling pity for the younger kids. It’s worse in the long run, to make a bond just to end up separated.”

“You did what you had to, to survive.”

“Yes, I did. But maybe I’m also just selfish. You don’t have to reassure me,” Goro cut him off, as if knowing what he was about to say. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. I see the world clearly for what it is… for what it’s supposed to be. Maybe you just have a saviour complex.”

“Makes sense. Considering.”

“Just don’t let it consume you, or you’ll end up like Maruki. Now that is a truly terrifying thought.”

Akira took his last sip of drink. It was getting cold, just traces of melted whipped cream clinging to the bottom of the mug. The singer continued on, soft voice reaching into even the furthest corners of the club, but the adults who populated those corners probably didn’t have school tomorrow.

“I probably don’t have to go to school,” Akira mused. “Who’s going to stop me?”

Goro raised an eyebrow.

“…I’m going to go anyways. Can’t let a little thing like the unravelling of reality mess with my grades. I have people to prove wrong.”

~

Outside, the snow was coming down heavier. It might have even had some staying power. Akira was unwilling to part ways, and Goro hadn’t said anything, so they stood together under the streetlight, watching it fall.

“Are we going to Mementos tomorrow?” Goro asked. “There’s no point in wasting time.”

“Sure. I was thinking the same thing. Though I’m a bit worried. Have you been all the way to the bottom? It’s a long way down.”

“I can’t say I have. Even at the height of my popularity I couldn’t get past that door.”

“I know time down there isn’t exactly a one-to-one but still… without Mona I’m worried it’s too deep to go in one day. We might have to camp or something?”

Akira did not relish the thought.

Goro laughed incredulously. “You really don’t know! Goodness Joker, what would you do without me?”

~

The trains of Mementos still ran endlessly, barrelling down into the collective human psyche. Once, the shadows behind the red-tinted windows had been in search of safety within Yaldabaoth’s prison. Now, Joker wasn’t sure where they were going. Was it human nature to search for something? To delve downwards to the center of everything, even if all that waited there was emptiness? Or had Maruki simply restarted the train schedule?

He and Crow stood overlooking the track, backs flush with the concrete wall. The ledge on which they stood was so narrow, to maintain his balance Joker had to keep one hand buried in the fleshy texture of the ceiling. The vein he held onto was somewhat warm. He tried not to think about it.

Air rushed out of the tunnel as the train approached, bringing with it the smell of Mementos, something which he could not describe, and which he doubted could be found anywhere in the real world. Sometimes, in palaces, he thought he’d caught a whiff of it, but there was no such subtlety to be found here. The encroaching wall of it blew back his hair and sent his coat rippling as the subway ground to a halt below them, doors opening to welcome its faceless passengers.

“It’s time.” Crow let go, landing on the roof in a graceful crouch. “Hurry up.”

Despite what Crow had told him, Joker was still a bit skeptical. Mona must have kept them off these other tracks for a reason. Still, he was not one to be outdone, rolling out of the jump with a summersault.

“How do we know when we’re there?” Joker asked. “Can we really ride this thing all the way to the bottom?”

“Only as far as you’ve been,” Crow explained. “We get off when it stops, or we’ll end up going around again. These things are cognition, they don’t have to make sense. You can ride the trains no deeper than your mind knows.”

The sound of the doors closing sent a trill of excitement up Joker’s spine, or maybe it was fear. He’d never been good at telling the difference.

“Get ready,” Crow warned, lowering himself into a stable crouch. “Don’t fall off.”

The witty retort was stolen from Joker’s lips, quite literally, as the train departed. It accelerated sharply into the darkness, and if it wasn’t for a childhood of gymnastics training and months of honing his skills in the metaverse, Joker wasn’t sure he could have kept his balance. Travelling at full speed, it got a little easier—the velocity fast but consistent—though the rushing of the air did not allow for conversation. It barely allowed for breathing. He couldn’t even see Crow most of the time, though they were no more than a few feet apart. Joker fought the urge to reach out to him, not wanting to throw either of them off balance.

The pitch black of the tunnels was intercut with flashes of light: familiar platforms, and unfamiliar expanses where the ground dropped out below them, the cars flying across bridges through the void. Sometimes the light was red and pulsing, so dim he could barely make out Crow’s silhouette, casting uncanny patterns of shadow across the metal roof. After having spent so much time in Mementos, Joker was shocked to realize how little of it he truly knew.

When the train finally slowed, it was in a familiar, cavernous room, a cathedral to a now-dead god. Once, throngs of shadows had waited at the door, begging for their space in captivity. Now, it sat open. As they disembarked, Joker noted that the trains continued on, further into the depths, though perhaps that was simply the way back up.

“It’s open,” Crow noted. “Was this your doing?”

Joker shook his head. “We kind of snuck in around the side. This is new.”

Together, they descended to where the holy grail had once sat. Joker was surprised to find no throne, no space to be filled. Though something deep within felt that it was there, just out of sight. Instead, they found a way back up.

Maruki had carved himself a space within the cognition of humanity, and it was the same bright, sterile white as his palace. Joker had always hated fluorescents. They made a space feel washed out and sickly. The flickering, white light drained the life from any room. He never would have thought he would look back fondly on the thrumming, living presence of Mementos proper, but there was nothing alive about these white corridors. The trains still ran here—why, he could not even begin to guess. Windows, once blood red, were now blinding florescent. They carried the shadows just the same, and he and Crow balanced atop, for these new layers of Mementos were not somewhere that could be traversed in one go.

On the first day, Joker and Crow stopped to rest in one of the familiar shelters, stained white like everything else here. Joker dug through his bag, producing a thermos of coffee and two containers of curry. He’d almost made too much last night, forgetting he was packing dinner for two instead of eight. The bright side of that was that it left him with the best thermos, and the coffee had faired well. Steam rose into the chill air as he unscrewed the lid, pouring some for Crow.

Crow looked surprised when Joker extended the plastic mug towards him. “Here. I know you prefer dark roast, and there’s no one else to worry about, so…”

He took it from him mechanically, like he was expecting it to attack him.

“I have curry too, if you’re hungry.” Joker motioned to the second container.

“I…” Crow set down the cup on the adjacent chair and began to fiddle with his mask. “I’d forgotten that you do this.” There was something strange in his tone.

Unsure how to respond, Joker took a sip of his own coffee.

Removing his gauntlets, Crow cradled the mug in bare hands. “Packing snacks for your whole little band and passing them out like a chaperone at a school trip… back then I thought it was infantile. I hated it.”

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want.” Joker frowned. Despite his unfortunate feelings for the other boy, too much Crow could still get exhausting.

“No, I’ll take it. It’s best we both keep up our strength. Honestly… I think I was just looking for a reason to hate you.” Crow extended a hand, and Joker cautiously passed over the curry. “You’re a good leader. You made them all feel safe, even in the face of insurmountable danger.”

“It’s good to have someone watching your back.”

“It is,” Crow agreed, “though back then I didn’t want to admit that. I needed to believe I was above such things.” He cracked the lid, the familiar smell of Leblanc filling the enclosure. “Of course, there is only so much _this_ I can take.” He gestured towards Joker’s bag. “The meal is very appreciated, but I am incapable of being the receptacle for all your redirected older-sibling energy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have a complex. I wouldn’t call you motherly, but it’s definitely adjacent. With the addition of recent information, things have begun to make sense. You’re trying to be the big brother for half of Tokyo.”

“If I wanted to be psychoanalyzed I’d go find Maruki.” Joker smirked, digging into his own meal. Their banter was good-natured, even if Crow’s observations were always a little pointed. He was too smart. That was one of the reasons Joker liked him.

Between the two of them, there was never any need to tiptoe around a topic. Their sorest spots had already been exposed and targeted. In their rivalry, all trauma was fair game. It was liberating, in a way. With Crow there was no need to be nice.

Speaking of siblings, it seemed that any truths Futaba may have grasped had been buried once more.

“I was expecting it,” he told Crow. “It’d have been stupid to get my hopes up. I know better at this point.”

She’d been so eager to leave Leblanc she’d told Wakaba she didn’t feel like curry…a true impossibility. It stung more than if she’d been upfront about her desire to avoid him. He wasn’t sure if she was even cognizant of it.

As the month wore on, things with the thieves did not improve. The token gestures of friendship and subtle exclusion made Joker feel like a middle-school outcast. It would have been easier if they could understand the choice they were making, if they could all yell at each other and be done with it. He’d have rather had them as opposition than victims.

In the world below, the tendrils of Maruki’s persona ran upwards like veins. Joker and Crow traced them towards their source, and back in the physical world the snow fell so that the streets of Tokyo resembled the cognitive tunnels. Joker’s life felt as if it had been caught under fluorescents. It was empty, devoid of the bonds that had made him into who he was. He tried not to let it bother him, how little he saw of his friends. He and Crow had work to do after all. The other boy was a solid point, an anchor in the blizzard.

A little under a week after Joker’s first time surfing the roofs of the cognitive subway, they reached Maruki’s control room. It was miraculously unguarded, though less so if one remembered how deep it was buried in the collective unconscious. All that awaited them were walls of screens and gleaming tentacles.

“I hate to admit it,” Joker said, “but Oracle would be really useful right now.”

“Your belief in her skills is quite impressive,” Crow noted, “given these are as much computers as our ride down here was actually a train. I, however, am a firm believer in the fact that things stop working when you smash them.”

Right, Crow made a very compelling point. As always, he was several steps ahead. All Joker had to do was keep his own cognition in check.

“Alright,” he affirmed. “Let’s rip them out at the root.”

Some time later, amongst an unrecognizable forest of melted plastic and twitching cables, Joker let himself slump to the ground, breathing hard. Their dismantling of the control room had been a whirlwind of wild laughter and unnecessary violence against inanimate objects. Crow had the right idea. It was cathartic to just let go. The mindless destruction had helped release the pressure that’d been building up inside him since this had all began. There was something to be said for the way a screen shattered: the sound, the pattern, the hissing death-cry of shorting electronics. Joker’s throat hurt, and it occurred to him he might have been screaming.

Crow joined him soon after. They both lay on their backs, facing away from each other in the center of the carnage. If Joker were to turn his head, he knew Crow’s face would be less than a foot away, but he dared not destroy the moment. So he just lay there and breathed, the only sound the occasional spray of sparks.

It was Crow to break the silence, voice rough and too quiet in the wake of such explosive volume. “He was using this place to pry into people’s minds against their will. Thinking of it makes my skin crawl. It felt good to destroy it.”

Joker grunted an affirmation.

“I should be tired, after that, but I’m not. I feel alive.” He laughed. “What do you say, you up for some billiards?”

“Absolutely!” Joker agreed, adrenaline rushing back as quickly as it had left. “This was a victory. We need to celebrate.”


	4. See Me as I Am

Across the green expanse of the pool table, Goro unbuttoned his jacket, studying the unbroken triangle of balls like they were a puzzle. Thankfully, he was too busy concentrating to notice Akira staring. Penguin Sniper was loud. But even with the background radiation of dozens of raised voices, it felt as if they were in their own little world.

Goro was using his left hand, Akira happily noted. Though if he hadn’t, Akira would have made him pay for his hubris. He hadn’t read those books for nothing, or spent so many nights playing with the other thieves. The humiliation of their first pool date and Akira’s uncontrollable desire to stand on equal footing with Akechi—no matter the arena—had cemented the game as one of his favourite pastimes. Goro had said once that it was a great fusion of precision and strategy, and Akira was inclined to agree.

The break was perfect, sinking two balls right off the bat. And oh Akira was going to have to work hard if he wanted to come back from that. Excitement surged through him, and suddenly there was nothing else aside from them and their game. There was no room for unpleasant thoughts with an opponent as skilled as Goro.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke his concentration, just as he was lining up what would have been an exceptional trick shot. Loud as ever, it was unmistakably Ryuji, and Akira’s heart jumped into his throat. He was surrounded by his friends from the track team, talking animatedly and gesturing like a tour guide. Through the door behind them stepped Haru and Makoto. Akira’s first thought was how much he missed them. His second was how he hadn’t received an invitation from any of them in almost a week, his own attempts to check in only resulting in stilted conversation.

“Are you going to—” Goro stopped short. “Oh. Would you look at that. What a coincidence.”

Akira almost called out, but it lodged in his throat. He settled, instead, for a smile and a wave. Awkward if they didn’t notice, even more so if they looked too closely at what was a very poor attempt at a normal facial expression. He didn’t want to intrude. He didn’t want them to think he was upset with them, or offended. He had no right to be. After all, he hadn’t invited any of them along with him and Goro.

Thankfully, Makoto’s eyes caught his. Saying something to Haru, she waved back.

“Akira!” Of course, Ryuji was the only one loud enough to be heard across the room.

Then, they were all coming over. Akira leaned on the edge of the table, hyperaware of his own body: casual, inviting, relaxed smirk. He tapped the pool cue against the floor like he wasn’t thinking about it. He hadn’t used to think about it. Not around his peers. This used to come naturally. Now, he felt like something else wearing the mask of Akira Kurusu, some creature from another world come to steal away their lives.

There were five track team boys. He could probably remember a few names if he put his mind to it, but definitely not all of them. They trailed after Ryuji like ducklings, voices much quieter, barely audible beneath the noise of the bar.

“… it’s Kurusu…”

“Who’s he with though?”

Makoto looked happy enough to see him, but there was something sharp beneath Haru’s polished politeness.

“Hey, dude!” Ryuji clapped him on the arm. “This night’s been full of coincidences. Me and the guys got off the train and ran right into Makoto and Haru. Lucky, right?”

“Yeah, lucky,” Akira echoed. “It’s good to see you.”

“Not really a surprise you’re here. I remember how into billiards you both used to get.”

Goro stood not far behind Akira and, to his credit, his expression was friendly enough, though his arms were crossed.

“Hey guys,” Makoto greeted. “Are you here to play billiards, as well?”

She didn’t sound particularly enthused, and a beat of silence passed as Akira was unable to find anything to say.

“Excellent deduction,” Goro said sarcastically, spinning the cue in his hand.

“Well uh…” Ryuji shuffled awkwardly, eyes flicking back to the gaggle of boys.

“Should me merge our groups then?” Makoto asked, a little too loudly. “That is if we’re not intruding.”

“Yes,” Haru agreed. “It would be weird to all be here and not play together.”

It was going to be weird either way, but the same needy part of himself that always tried to stop Goro from leaving wanted to be near his friends, even if it hurt. “Totally. Let’s play.”

They decided to handle it like a tournament, the first two track boys eager to grab the cues. His and Goro’s game would go unfinished for the moment.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before,” said Nakaoka, giving Goro a once over. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think he goes to Shujin,” said Takeishi.

“Goro Akechi,” Akechi said. His arms stayed folded. “I used to be on TV on occasion, though it appears I’ve already been forgotten. I’m not surprised. It was never going to be more than fifteen minutes of fame.”

“Oh yeah, I think I remember,” said Nakaoka, not sounding like he actually remembered.

How many times had Akira called the Phantom Thieves to Penguin Sniper? Even a few times with Goro, while they worked on Sae’s casino. Yet something felt different this time. Maybe it was the addition of the track boys who took most of Ryuji’s attention, trying to hit on Haru tactlessly and being too scared to hit on Makoto. Maybe it was the aftermath of that night at the arcade. Had they talked about him? About how he’d made Futaba cry? Or were they simply ignoring it? Nothing unpleasant could be dwelled on, for this was a happy dream.

Akira had never been the talkative type, especially not in large groups, and before today that hadn’t felt like a problem. He saved his words for the most powerful moments. Now though, he realized he’d taken for granted how his friends gravitated to him, orbiting without much effort on his part. He’d assumed he was good at such things, but now that he’d lost it he realized he had no idea how to get it back.

“So,” Haru said, as Makoto went to taker her turn at the table. “What have you been up to recently? I feel like it’s been some time since we’ve talked.”

Akira froze. It would be strange to lie when there was nothing he wanted more than for them to know the truth, but to drop a passive-aggressive comment they had no hope of understanding just for his own catharsis would only serve to push them further away. On the other hand, was it not deceitful to hide what he was doing? If he planned to destroy their dream lives did they not deserve to be told? Haru was looking at him, and Ryuji had turned as well. Akira tried to speak but his dialogue options were coming up blank.

“He’s been going to Mementos with me,” Goro said, casting a quick look towards the oblivious outsiders. “It’s a great way to relieve stress… And these are stressful times, don’t you agree?”

Akira could have kissed him.

“Uh…” Ryuji rubbed the back of his head. “I mean… not really?”

“I have found myself in a good mood lately,” Haru added, “but I’m sorry to hear you’re stressed, Akira-kun.”

Goro rolled his eyes, making no attempt to hide it. “It’s a shame Akira and I were on the same branch of the tournament tree.” It was a blunt change of subject, but Akira still felt himself relax. “The finale will be rather boring given how terrible you all are at pool.”

There were a few yells of protest from the track boys. Makoto, who’d just lost to Takeishi, folded her arms indignantly.

“It’s true I haven’t spent much time playing these sorts of games, but you shouldn’t sell Haru or Ryuji short. Anything can happen.”

“I could give you a few pointers,” Takeishi offered her, seeming to fancy himself a pool expert. “A lot of it is in the stance.”

“How about this.” Goro ignored the entire exchange. “I’ll use my non-dominant hand, to give you all a fighting chance. If my victory were assured it would be boring for me and frustrating for you.”

The jab served its purpose as surely as casting rage in the metaverse. Those still in the game had tunnel vision. It was always fun, playing with Goro, though Akira got the sense the others didn’t share his feelings on the matter. Their own game had been close, but he didn’t mind the loss if it had led to this. Goro beat one of the other track boys then Haru, facing Takeishi in the final round. Goro won, of course, making a point to be as insufferable as possible the entire time.

“I could give you a few pointers, if you’d like,” Goro purred. “Form is very important.” He reached out as if to place a hand on Takeishi’s back, and the other boy jerked away so quickly he almost tripped.

Objectively, Akira knew Goro was being a pretentious fuck, but couldn’t find it within himself to feel anything but fondness. The detective prince had at least made some effort to conceal his power plays behind a placating smile and a thin attempt at modesty, but this Goro had no reason to play at being nice.

The night came to an early end not long after Goro’s victory. Haru and Makoto decided to leave, citing exhaustion, starting a chain reaction which disbanded Ryuji’s group as well.

“See you around, Akira,” Ryuji said, as he headed for the door. He did not sound like he was in a very good mood.

Akira sighed, stifling his own yawn. Their trip to the metaverse hadn’t been a long one, but trashing the control room had still tired him out. Goro was heading for the door as well so Akira hurried to catch up with him.

“I guess that’s the end of the celebration…” Goro sneered.

It wasn’t snowing tonight. What little remained was stained grey and packed tight into forgotten corners. Something had changed in Goro’s mood. Akira had thought he was enjoying himself.

“Why?” Akira asked.

As if startled, Goro stopped short, turning back to face him. They’d met in front of Penguin Sniper many times, and Akira drew confidence from the familiar territory.

“Your _teammates_ don’t deserve to be coddled. Maruki is doing more than enough in that regard. He doesn’t need my help.”

“What?” This felt like the second half of an argument Akira didn’t remember having.

“I refuse to play any roll in this world. It would feel like giving in, and I have no reason to mask my true feelings anymore.”

“I know,” Akira said, still trying to piece together what had upset him. “It was weird being around you when you were wearing the prince mask. I could never tell what was genuine and what was manipulation, so I had to assume the latter. It’s easier once you just drop the act and tell me to my face that you hate me. So, what’s up?”

“I know we disagree on this point, but I cannot help but feel that those of you who aren’t seeing reality choose not to, at least on some level. As Lavenza said, it was the Phantom Thieves who brought this world into being. So, though you refuse to hold them accountable, I believe it unfair that they have left this burden to you alone.”

“Like I said… it’s my fault not theirs. I’m the Trickster, I brought them into this in the first place. It’s my responsibility.”

“Hmm… or perhaps your brand of self-sacrificial narcissism is just another symptom of your own distorted cognition? Why exclude them from your destiny bullshit? Are your friends free from the chains of determinism?”

This argument was starting to give him a headache. “I’m not going to claim you’re wrong.” He sighed. “I just don’t want to keep slamming my head against that wall, okay? It’s more trouble than it’s worth. So can you lay off? We’re doing fine by ourselves, aren’t we?”

Goro appeared to relax slightly. “I know you made your decision… to do this alone. And I’ll respect it, but I refuse to play nice with them while they avert their eyes from the truth. So next time you want to subject yourself to that I’ll leave, but I won’t apologize for disrupting your masochistic pantomime.”

“You don’t have to leave… or apologize. I liked having you there. It was actually pretty funny.” Akira found himself grinning as he remembered how easily Goro had cut through the egos of Ryuji’s new friends.

Blinking slowly, Goro said nothing at all. There was something about his expression that didn’t make sense. If Akira didn’t know better he would have said he looked afraid.

“Sorry our celebration got interrupted,” Akira attempted. “Want to come over? Have some coffee? We need to plan our next move, anyways.”

Another slow blink as Akira wracked his brain for what he’d done wrong.

“Alright,” Goro said. “Alright.”

~

After everything, Akira was very glad Morgana had moved out. It wasn’t that he expected anything to come of this past staving off the loneliness for an hour more, but to share the evening stillness of Leblanc with only Goro felt magical in a way that was difficult to explain.

The café was lit by old incandescent bulbs, tired coils that never seemed to burn out, proving their age through the stained grey of their glass covering. Akira figured it was probably a myth that fluorescents lasted longer. The light was warm and yellow, alive in the same way Leblanc was. So many of his most precious memories had been made within these walls.

Though most of his fatigue had been banished the moment Goro had agreed to come over, Akira made coffee all the same. He slid one cup across the counter, keeping one for himself, but remained standing, just as he had in the old days when Goro had come here to play mind games. The thrill of the unknown, the distrust and danger, flirting as a disguised power-play; Akira had loved every second of their game. That was all in the past now, but what replaced it was just as potent.

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t walked through that door,” Akira admitted. “I thought I was going insane.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I think you’d have seen through it yourself, in time.”

Akira made a non-committal noise. “I already saw through it. That wasn’t the problem.”

Goro took his time sipping the coffee. “It’s good. Thanks. Coffee tastes better in the winter, I think… not that the heat ever stopped me from needing it.”

Akira wasn’t paying much attention to the flavour of his own cup, which was a shame because he’d broken into the good beans. It wasn’t like Sojiro was capable of getting mad, in his current state.

The cold seeped through the cracks, and with his space heater all the way upstairs, Akira decided to trade the apron for his coat. Sitting down next to Goro, he wrapped his hands around the mug, enjoying the slight burn against his cold fingers.

“Why do you always try to stop me from leaving?” Goro asked. “Are you that afraid of being alone?”

For a moment there was no sound but the ticking of the wall-clock as Akira struggled to construct an explanation that was not an unwanted confession.

“What are you talking about?” He finally settled on denial. “You mean how I invited you over a few times after we got out of the metaverse?” He shrugged. “I guess maybe a little, yeah.”

Goro was looking at him, a single eyebrow raised, and Akira was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation of standing at the edge of a precipice.

“It’s not the same. Being around the others when they’re like this… You’re right. It is lonely, but…” Akira had told enough lies today. “I would want to be around you regardless. I did before, and I do now. I invited you here because I like when you’re around.”

Why did Goro have to be so difficult to read? Akira knew he was much the same, but was it so selfish to wish to see his opponent’s hand before showing his own? They were very close, chairs turned to slightly face each other. Goro was looking at him, and Akira felt like a specimen pinned to a board, like he was being dissected and catalogued. Deep red eyes showed the cold detachment of a researcher. What was he looking for? Akira did not wish to hide. It was simply in his nature. But if Goro were to ask, he would give him anything.

Goro took Akira’s face in his gloved hand, tilting it slightly, still examining. Akira was frozen. Another hand gently removed his glasses, placing them on the bar. It was both tender and clinical, confusing and obvious, and Akira was too tired to fight any longer. His mind was warm static, incapable of stopping his body from leaning forward to close the distance.

Their lips met, and just like that they were kissing, like there hadn’t been anything stopping them in the first place. Everything was Akechi. Goro. Akira wanted nothing more than to be closer, to never have to let go. It wasn’t enough. He tasted like coffee, but mostly just like him, and Akira knew he’d never be able to forget the taste.

When the static cleared a little, Akira realized he had Goro pressed up against the bar. The other boy gripped the front of his jacket tightly as if trying to stay standing. Akira pulled back a centimetre, too electrified to feel sheepish.

“That was… enthusiastic.” Goro panted, his bottom lip swollen from where Akira had bitten it. “I suppose that answers that question.”

In response, Akira pressed their bodies together once more, resting his head in the crook of Goro’s neck. He let his eyes slide closed, lips resting against skin, not kissing. A tentative hand slid into his hair, too gentle to possibly belong to Crow, yet it pulled him closer. Goro did not complain about how tightly he squeezed him, allowing himself to be held.

Once Akira’s heart had returned to a steady rhythm and he had processed the truth of the situation, he was able to move forward. Shifting at last, Akira kissed Goro’s collarbone, almost afraid to look up.

“Is this alright?” His voice was so low it was unfamiliar to his own ears.

It took Goro a second too long to answer, and Akira stopped, lips frozen at the base of his jaw.

When he spoke, Akira could feel it as much as hear it. “Yes. Yes, I want this. I’ve _wanted_ this.”

His voice was breathless and needy, so it was easy enough to ignore the hint of trepidation. After all, their relationship had never been simple. Akira understood. What they had was built on a foundation of broken glass. That didn’t mean he was going to give it up.

~

Curled around Goro on his old, broken mattress, Akira struggled to stay awake as exhaustion and bliss threatened to pull him under. But there was no dream he could have that would be better than this. He clung to the moment, trying to commit every detail to memory.

Shifting in his arms, Goro sat up, though he made no move to free himself. Akira’s arms encircled his waist, head in his lap and cheek against his bare stomach. Maybe he was being clingy, but he could not help but worry that Goro was the type to leave. He would snarl something about mistakes, or meaningless stress-relief, and yell at Akira if he asked him to stay. Was it so wrong of him to want to hold on just a moment longer?

But Goro did not say any of those things. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all. He sat statue-still, staring at the window, not seeming to mind the cold outside the blanket. Akira hovered on the edge of sleep, revelling in the warmth of another body. He wanted so badly for Goro to touch him, to put a hand in his hair or wrap around him in turn, but his bedmate was as frozen as the icicles on the eave.

Akira was pulled back to full consciousness by Goro’s voice. “What do you want me to be?”

It was a strangely worded question, and it took Akira a moment to parse what he meant.

“Anything you want,” he answered. “I honestly never thought I’d get this far.”

Goro made an annoyed sound, and Akira released him, propping himself up on an elbow. It was best he didn’t push his luck.

“That is what you’d be willing to take. I’m asking what you want.”

“Is this some sort of test?” Akira asked. Goro sounded angry in a muted sort of way, and Akira knew he always sounded a little angry, but given the current situation he couldn’t help but let it bother him. “I like our games, but we’ve got a job to do and I don’t intend to let this get in the way. So as much as I enjoyed this—and trust me I really enjoyed this—I’d be willing to postpone dealing with the specifics until after Maruki’s taken care of… if you’re going to be weird about it.”

“Just answer the question… Please.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I like you? This isn’t new, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What could you possibly imagine will come of this? We’re allies of convenience. You know what I’ve done, what I am. All that’s waiting for me at the end of this is the consequences of my own actions. Do you think I could coexist with your friends? Do you think that if you wait long enough I’ll go back to batting my eyelashes and complimenting you on your mediocre coffee? Or is this purely physical? What do you want me to be?”

“I—”

It appeared Goro wasn’t done. “And don’t you dare tell me you want me as I am. Say anything but that. There’s clearly something wrong with you, but even you aren’t that insane. I’m just as dangerous to you and your friends as I was before.”

“What are you talking about?” Akira could barely get a word in.

“You know… I considered shooting one of them; point blank, no warning, just to see how you’d react. What would Maruki do about that, I wonder?”

Though Maruki’s power over reality appeared godlike he was far from omnipotent, and this was not an experiment Akira was keen to run. Goro’s intensity was quickly reaching metaverse levels. Akira didn’t know what had provoked him, but he worried that if it kept building it would end badly. He considered kissing him as a distraction but decided against it. Even if he didn’t understand, Akira could always tell when someone needed to be listened to, and Goro’s anger bordered on desperation.

“But you didn’t,” he offered.

“I could have. I know I could have. I wouldn’t even feel anything.” Who was he trying to convince, Akira wondered? “To me, something like that is only a matter of strategy. I weighed the pros and cons and decided I needed you on my side more than I wanted to find out what would happen.”

“Why are you trying so hard to scare me away?”

“I’m only trying to be honest. I like and respect you Akira, and I’m through with deceiving you. I am not a normal person. That being said, I am not lacking in self-awareness. I am aware that I don’t always feel things as I should. And all I want, right now, is to understand your cognition of me.”

“I do know you, Goro.” The other boy wasn’t looking at him, still sitting stiffly in the middle of Akira’s bed like he’d been carved from marble. Below the anger, Akira could see him thinking. Goro was always thinking, always assuming the worst. It had kept him alive so far, but in that moment Akira wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms and make him stop. However, that wasn’t what was currently required of him. “I have never underestimated you as long as I’ve known you. I know better than anyone what you’re capable of, but I don’t think you’re a monster. And I think you know, I’m not exactly normal either. You’re the only one I can’t fool. You see me as I am, and I see you.”

“I do know you. I know you wouldn’t have made the choices I made.”

“Maybe, maybe not. It’s stupid to think about it. We’re our experiences, after all. We are the things we’ve lived through, the things we’ve done. That’s what Maruki doesn’t understand. I can imagine them though…” Akira whispered, “your choices. I can imagine making them, and maybe it doesn’t feel different than any of my other masks. Just because we’re capable of walking up to a stranger in the street and pulling the trigger doesn’t mean either of us will.”

“I have, for all practical purposes, done exactly that.” He was deflating, fading from anger to soft confession, like a fish caught in a net slowly losing the strength to struggle. “And I don’t regret it. I could tell you I do. I know all the right things to say, and for a moment I could even make myself believe it, but I’d never truly feel it. I did what I did. It’s not right to undo something that’s been done. If the world could be rewritten like that there’d be no point in doing anything. I can’t even say with certainty I wouldn’t do it again, though I realize now I was playing into Shido’s hand like the desperate child I was.”

“Exactly.” Tentatively breaking the thin barrier of air between them, Akira took his hand, pressing kisses to his knuckles between words. “I might not know what the hell I’m doing, but I know how I feel about you. And it wouldn’t be you without all that stuff, right? So, you have to work a bit harder to be good, and maybe you aren’t sure yet if it’s even worth the trouble, but that’s the Akechi I fell for. I don’t want you to be anything else.”

“Shut up.” Goro didn’t pull away. “I asked you not to say that. God damn it Akira.”

Finally, the anger crumbled. It had never been anything but a thin crust, and below it was someone who was fighting not to cry. Akira would pretend not to notice. He knew how it felt to have the vulnerable space behind his mask revealed. Though Akira was glad for the proof that Goro was not the emotionless machine he saw himself as. He intended to make him see that truth the way he always did, by stealing his heart, even if the methods were unconventional.

Before he could put his plan into motion, however, lips crashed into his, and Akira was pushed onto his back. Goro climbed on top of him, hands grasping, scratching, winding themselves in his hair.

Goro’s voice was quiet as he murmured a prayer into his mouth.

“God damn it Akira.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akechi is having a _time_ right now, and Akira is mostly oblivious to his existential crisis. I'm been having fun writing their conversations.


	5. Garden of Eden

Every time they returned to Maruki’s palace it seemed the ground floor was busier than the time before. Guests perused the posters depicting Maruki’s research while masked cognitions coaxed them further in. The air was filled with exclamations of joy and testimonials of how Maruki’s research had changed their lives. The ego trips of palace rulers were not unfamiliar to Joker, but it was strange to see it here, when the Maruki he’d grown to know had been nothing but modest and pleasant. He hated to acknowledge how thoroughly he’d been tricked.

“I think some of them are real,” Joker said, as a pair of anxious-looking women exited the elevator.

“I had a similar thought.” Crow looked pensively at the crowd around the displays. “Of course, it’s difficult to be certain. You saw for yourself in Shido’s palace how realistic some cognitions can be.”

“I didn’t find Shido’s cognitions that realistic. Sure they looked like people, but they were caricatures.”

Shido had only seen the weaknesses of his collaborators. They had been nothing past their use to him and the ways in which they could be manipulated. Even the worst of people were more than that. The dead eyes of the cognitive Akechi still haunted him to this day.

Crow made a non-committal sound. “Still… Maruki’s understanding of the human mind must be quite extensive, given his profession. Yet, it is the contrast between the smiling manikins from our first visit and some of these new guests that makes me think you’re correct.”

“Well we know he’s working his actualization on a case-by-case basis, right? Maybe this is where he’s doing it.”

Joker shivered. On their last visit, they’d lied their way through a psychological test and found the treatment rooms, leaving after gaining the keys to a personnel entrance, for easy re-entry. He remembered the lines of people, strapped in beneath VR helmets, motionless except for the occasional muscle spasm. At the time, he’d been able to pass by unperturbed. At this point he was used to the treatment of cognitions in palaces, but this revelation added a whole new level of horror to the situation. How many of them had been real?

Looking over, he noted that Crow was no longer beside him. Thankfully, it was easy to spot his costume amongst all the white. Joker wove through the crowd, trying to catch up.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Crow stopped short, staring down one of the crowded aisles, and instantly Joker knew what had provoked him. Wakaba Isshiki stood with a group of men, discussing one of the displays. She looked the picture of professionalism in a turtleneck and lanyard, glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“Or maybe,” Crow murmured, “there’s not much difference. Is this cognition of Isshiki different than the one he created out there? Would it matter?”

“Why would she be here?” Joker asked.

“We’ve dug through his mind. It should be obvious. After Shido shut his research down it was passed on to Isshiki and her team. They were colleagues in a small field, and despite all his claimed altruism, looking at the state of his palace it’s clear how Maruki craves validation.”

At that, Joker took a few steps back, blending into the shadows. If this was the same Wakaba as outside the palace, he didn’t want to run the risk of her recognizing him.

“You see the men she’s with?” Crow stepped back with him, keeping his voice low. “They were working under her when I killed her. The company is still around in the true reality, last time I checked, though they dare not make any breakthroughs for fear of meeting the same fate.”

Crow had long since moved past trying to get a reaction from him, and spoke freely without worry or pretense.

“I did a bit of investigation,” Crow said, “and it seems Maruki has given Isshiki her old job back. After all, that is how Sakura remembers her. Aside from that, Mind’s Eye Incorporated seems to exist in this reality purely to stoke Maruki’s ego through their own inadequacy.”

Wakaba and her entourage moved away, heading for the inner door.

“They’re probably real then,” Joker said. “He’d know if they were cognitions. What would be the point?”

“Maybe… though their admiration is no more real for it, in a reality where a fundamental rule is Maruki’s genius.” Seeming to tire of the conversation, Crow lead on. “Let’s get moving.”

At this point, the infiltration route was familiar, each corner known as intimately as a lover. Following this planned path, there was space to talk, as long as one timed their words around the movements of the shadows.

“Seeing Wakaba here got me thinking,” Joker mused, “Maruki really isn’t one for research assistants. Hell, even the doctors here are shadows not cognitions. He told me a lot about his career as a researcher, but I don’t think he ever had a coauthor on anything. The closest he ever got was a friend pear reviewing his paper.”

“Unsurprising. Narcissists are often loners.”

“It’s too bad. When he had his funding pulled it would have helped to have friends in the field. Like if it had been him and a partner working on the paper they wouldn’t have been able to stand up to Shido, but at least he wouldn’t have been alone. A dream seems more real when you share it with someone.”

“Of course you’d say that.” Crow darted into a doorway. “Shh.”

They waited just inside the frame for the shadow to pass, and maybe Joker pressed a little closer to Crow than was absolutely necessary, but that was part of the fun.

“He did invite Wakaba and, what was it, Mind’s Eye Incorporated, right? Probably to show them his research. It seems out of character.” Joker continued the conversation where they’d left off, Crow gently guiding them back into the hall, now that the danger had passed.

“I told you. They’re just here to bask. I haven’t spent nearly as much time around Maruki as you, but I can smell his righteous bullshit a mile away. He’s a true academic.” Clawed air-quotes added extra emphasis. “I guarantee you he sees himself above those doing research in the private sector. He’s doing it to _save humanity_ , not for a quick buck. And look where that got him. Dreams don’t change the world. Money does. _Power_ does. Maruki’s only here because he was lucky enough to get caught in your slip-stream and narcissistic enough to believe he deserves it.”

On returning to the treatment room, Joker walked past the lines of motionless people as quickly as he could. They were probably all cognitions, but he refused to look closely enough to find out. The best thing they could do for Maruki’s victims was to finish his palace as soon as possible.

To move forward, he and Crow found themselves pawing through Maruki’s subconscious once more. His memories of what he’d done to Sumire where hidden deep. Like so many of his formative moments, Maruki refused to think about it. They were the gates Maruki had overcome to win his place, so it was only natural that they were the keys to following him.

“She was an experiment,” Crow said. “He needed proof of his research. There’s no way he really thought that would help her, and if he does it’s because he’s lying to himself.”

It was true that on seeing his choice to subsume Sumire’s identity play out before his own eyes, Akira felt his bond with Maruki stretch and fray. He and Maruki had reached a deep understanding, and though standing opposed to his dream, Joker understood it, only grudgingly fighting his friend out of necessity. He was saving the doctor as much as any of his victims, or at least that’s what he’d been telling himself, but the deeper they pushed into the palace the further Joker’s opinion of him soured. When they stepped into the garden, the truth of Maruki’s distortion laid bare before them, Joker did not begrudge Crow his eye-roll.

Enraptured cognitions floated upwards in beams of light, through the twisting roots and vines of a place where nature and science had merged together into a parody of an idealistic utopia. Above them loomed smiling statues of the woman Maruki had loved, his first victim in the name of that love. Maruki’s garden was truly perfect, watched endlessly by countless eyes, somewhere between security cameras and rotting apples, heavy on their branches.

He and Crow almost got lost in that place, unworthy to ascend. By some miracle, they found their way out, or perhaps they were the only ones who could have: Joker, who knew Maruki so well, and Crow who was as sharp as the beak of his namesake.

Together, they stepped wordlessly off the last elevator into Maruki’s true garden of Eden. It was beautiful. Joker could not deny it. It felt good to be here, like he could lie down on the grass and be happy staring into the multicoloured sky for eternity. Cognitions walked naked between the fruit trees, dipping their feet in crystal clear water, laughing, and playing, and kissing. Above them, the eyes of god surveyed what he had made, and declared that it was good.

He and Crow walked together towards the center of the garden, not bothering with stealth. There were no shadows under this sun. Turning to look at his partner, he was surprised to see his expression was dark. Seemingly unaffected by the euphoria of this place, he pulled deep into his jagged helmet, like he was hiding.

“You okay?” Joker asked.

Crow didn’t answer for a moment. “I assume Maruki is trying to convey that the world will turn into something like this if we allow him to abuse his research. It’s a truly terrifying thing to imagine,” he admitted, though if that was true he hid his fear well. The only thing Joker could hear in his voice was bitterness.

That was, of course, the correct way to feel, so Joker did not say anything to the contrary. Instead he stayed silent. Maybe the garden didn’t frighten him because he could not imagine the world Crow was describing. These cognitions were nothing like people. People were never content, not truly. If Maruki could steal that discontentment, would they even be human anymore? Perhaps Crow was right to be afraid, maybe he had too much faith in people, but Joker figured this was the most pleasant area of the palace so far. At least nothing was trying to kill them.

The center of the garden was a great tree. Around it, the air itself warped like shattered glass, and high in the canopy, like an unripe fruit, was the treasure.

“It would appear we have our route,” Crow said.

The heart of Maruki’s distortion looked the same as any other. Joker wondered what shape it would take. What had caused such a kind, well-intentioned man to see himself as worthy to hold this much power?

~

Though Goro was too tired to come by Leblanc, Akira walked with him to the station. The snow was back, and if it kept up like this all night they would awaken to a very different Tokyo.

“We need to send the calling card,” Akira said, “but Maruki never leaves his palace. It’s a weird situation. We may have to figure out something creative.”

Snow made everything quieter. Even the Tokyo traffic felt far away as they headed down the stairs into the subway.

“I’m sure Maruki’s well aware the Phantom Thieves send out their calling cards the day before their heists. Considering his actions up until now, I highly suspect he will attempt to directly intervene in some way that day…”

Akira always enjoyed listening to Goro’s deductions. When he spoke in that voice it was hard to disagree.

“If I were a betting man I’d say he’ll come to you. Are you ready for that?” It sounded like an accusation. “It will be our one chance to give him the calling card.”

Why, after all they’d been through together, did Goro still not trust him?

“Of course I am! That’s not the problem here. It’s dangerous to just wait around for him to come to us. I trust your deductions, but are you really willing to take the risk?”

“I’ll bet my life on it.”

Akira sighed. “Well it’s not like we have another plan. I’ve just always hated gambling. Especially if what I’m betting is the world.”

“It’s the loss of the control, or more specifically relinquishing control to the house.” Goro smiled, stopping in front of Akira’s gate. “You’re a dare-devil, but you hate allowing someone else to hold the chips.” It was a fond dissection. Goro liked to know, and Akira enjoyed being known. It felt good to be taken apart and catalogued, if the researcher cut with a loving hand. It meant Goro cared enough to look. “Much like with the giant slot machine,” Goro continued, “I think the odds are in our favour. You simply have to pull the lever.”

Akira nodded, and Goro grasped his shoulder, kissing him once. “Good night, Akira.”

It was a shameless, open display of affection, and Akira hadn’t expected that to feel as good as it did. He wondered if Goro would stay so fearless once they’d escaped Maruki’s reality. It was true the real world was much crueller, but Akira couldn’t help but hope that he would.

~

There was nothing to do but wait. Akira had always been good at keeping himself busy. It was a little more difficult now that Leblanc was to be avoided, but Akira had many friends in Tokyo outside of the Phantom Thieves. That, in itself, would have been enough. Akira was very good at tolerating, but the weeks that followed did not need to be tolerated.

Goro was almost always had his side. It was surprising, though Akira would never say that aloud, afraid to break the magic. Goro had always needed his space, or at least that was what Akira had thought. Perhaps his double life had simply kept him too busy. Still, Akira had thought he’d have to work harder to convince the other boy to spend time with him.

Goro wound his way into Leblanc nearly every day, like a stray cat; sitting, and staring, and thinking, seemingly unafraid of how quickly their relationship was moving. Akira would have been lying if he said he wasn’t ecstatic, but it wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Goro became part of the routine, filling the empty, cold attic with his presence. It was easier to remember to eat when there was someone to make the curry for, and despite how cramped his mattress was for two people, Akira never wished for space.

Even the bathhouse went from inconvenience to disguised blessing. Akira had never thought he’d be grateful for the café’s lack of shower until he found himself alone with Goro, sinking into the familiar, warm water that he’d long since stopped appreciating.

“It’s been a while,” Goro said, taking a second longer to step into the tub.

One good thing about being together—for he could not think of it any other way—was that Akira no longer had to pretend he wasn’t staring. Goro smirked, sinking down beside him. Though walking through the dark, Yongen streets it had felt like he and Goro were the only ones awake, they were technically in public. Any discretion could easily be walked in on. They sat perhaps a bit too close, brief touches concealed by the steam. It was a game, like most things were between them, both poking at the boundary, tempting the other to cross it. Just being with Akechi felt like dancing.

“You know…” Goro said, once the pretense of washing had been completed and they were simply relaxing in the warmth. “It’s interesting, trying to deduce exactly how Maruki makes his decisions. Certainly, every decision he makes is righteous by decree, but what is _right_ for someone is so subjective. It’s an interesting exercise to attempt to trace the thought process.”

“That evaluation we took provably gives us something to work with,” Akira offered.

Goro liked to analyze, and Akira liked how he looked when he was lost in thought, an added benefit on top of how it made him an interesting conversation partner. That was one of the first things Akira had liked about him. Akira shifted closer, letting his arm rest casually on the edge of the bath. It was even later now than when they’d arrived. Surely no one would come in at this time of night.

“Yes. And what a truly baffling collection of contradictory beliefs that was.”

That wasn’t quite fair. Akira had a decent understanding of Maruki’s treatment philosophy, and it wasn’t as contradictory as Goro seemed to think. However, he opted to keep that to himself as it didn’t mean much. Akira was very good at understanding people. It didn’t mean he agreed with many of them.

“I wanted to see how he fit Wakaba and Okumura into the world, given that they aren’t supposed to be here,” Goro said. “What did he make them into? How far from their original selves?”

“I thought you looked into them in the first week?” Akira asked, a little concerned. It didn’t sound particularly healthy to spend time watching the people you’d murdered.

“I did, and what I concluded is that they are indistinguishable from living people, but that poses some interesting philosophical questions about the scope of Maruki’s power.”

“I don’t like thinking about it,” Akira admitted. “It’ll make things harder. I kind of just assume what I need to assume, you know?”

Goro nodded. “A wise decision. Perhaps it makes me weak that I am unable to fight my own curiosity.”

Akira wanted to comfort him, to tell him it was alright to regret what he’d done, that it was not treachery against his past self to change, but knew that was the worst of the things he could say. Instead he opted for silence.

“Let’s call it scientific curiosity.” Goro said it like a joke. “I wondered what the point would be, to give them lives outside of the people they are here to please. It’s mystifying enough how he decides on perfect lives for people who are supposed to exist… but how could he even begin to guess for someone who has been dead for years? I kept trying to find some crack in the machine. It would have been a relief to see Okumura leave for work then stand in a room until his next stage cue. He doesn’t, by the way. It’s actually pretty interesting to see how he’s changed, given how abhorrent his business practices used to be. Maruki’s a creative guy.”

“So, what’ve you deduced so far? I was wondering about it too when I ran into him and Haru. You worked with Okumura right? Is he the same guy?”

“I never worked with him directly.” Goro sounded a bit offended. By way of apology, Akira leaned closer, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “I kept a profile of him, of course, but I doubt I would be able to recognize a fake if his own daughter can’t.”

“Good point. Though she’s not exactly in the right frame of mind, right?”

Goro made an annoyed noise, swatting Akira’s hand away. “It would be a mistake to assume we’re above his manipulation. Trust nothing until we either tear his heart out or put a bullet in his brain.”

“I’m going to veto that second one.”

“It was a joke. With the power Maruki wields, the safest win comes from stealing the core of his distortion.”

“So, if you know they’re living normal lives, why the interest in our risen dead?” Akira steered the conversation back to the previous topic. It had been Goro to bring it up, after all, and if there was something he needed to work through, Akira was more than willing to listen.

Goro’s eyes narrowed. “Like I said, scientific curiosity. I wanted to see how Maruki chose to rewrite the story. Both were so tangled up with Shido… I was curious how he got around that. I’m sure you know; the Phantom Thieves took him down in this reality too.”

Akira nodded.

“They both had ties to him here, as well, just less directly. Maruki is subtle in his alterations. If it weren’t so disgusting I’d have respect for the art of it. As for their personalities: I didn’t know Wakaba well, though I doubt she’s much different. Okumura, on the other hand...”

“A polar opposite,” Akira supplied.

“At first I thought his vastly different demeanour was proof these are Maruki’s creations after all, but then something occurred to me.” Goro placed a hand on Akira’s arm, as if to add emphasis. “If you had succeeded in changing his heart, how do you think he would have acted afterwards?”

Akira winced. “Like a good father, I would guess.”

“I suppose we did learn one thing from that joke of a psychological evaluation. Maruki is a big fan of the Phantom Thieves. You two have a lot in common. I see why you got along so well.”

The dance swung the other way, and Akira slipped from Goro’s grip, moving across the bath. Goro did not immediately pursue him, but his smile was not apologetic.

“I’m sorry if I offend,” Goro said, slipping into a disconcerting mockery of his prince voice. “In recompense want to hear some insider information from a member of Shido’s inner circle?”

Akira waited.

“Cognitive psience is, of course, incredibly useful for politicians. However, it is also useful for businesses. Being able to manipulate someone’s perceived reality is not so different from advertising, if you think about it. Shido dropped a lot of money into Mind’s Eye and other similar organizations. He used those connections to offer services to his allies that went past just having me kill people.”

Akira’s eyes flickered instinctually towards the door which was, of course, still empty, and Goro laughed.

“Okumura was one of his best sources of capital. And Wakaba and her team were indirectly providing the tools for Okumura Food’s sudden, global rise… even before I got involved.”

“That is interesting,” Akira conceded. “Makes it feel like everything’s connected, like I should start a red-string board up in the attic.”

“A little late for that now, seeing as Maruki’s moved all the pins around. What he ended up doing was removing Shido as the middleman, erasing all his actual misdeeds to sculpt him into a figure-head super villain for your team to defeat.”

Akira bit back an apology he knew Goro would not appreciate.

“However, the result of this is that Okumura and Wakaba’s connection is now direct.” He paused, as if waiting for Akira to catch up. “They work together,” he explained. “Well, Okumura is a stakeholder. He visited the Mind’s Eye lab. I watched them have a conversation.”

It was interesting, in a coincidental sort of way, but Akira found himself much less concerned with why exactly Maruki had set things up this way than the question of why Goro was watching them at all.

“I’m not sure what to get from that,” Akira said.

“Then we feel the same way. It’s…” Goro looked slightly pained. “Weird. My only thought is that their proximity makes it easier for him to monitor them, but what that means I have no idea.”

“I think…” Akira ventured. “It means you’re thinking too much. We have a job to do. Why does Maruki’s exact thought process matter? After all the shit you gave me, don’t tell me you’re the one getting second thoughts.”

Goro sighed heavily, tilting his head back to rest it on the edge, exposing a pale expanse of neck. “You’re right, but I’ll allow myself a little weakness, I think. Just this once. I am still fully prepared to do what needs to be done.”

He was infuriatingly attractive. It wasn’t fair. How were they supposed to play this game of theirs if Goro was cheating?

“I think you should be nicer to me,” Akira teased, crossing his arms and staying pointedly on the other side of the tub. “I mean, you always underestimate me, despite the fact I always win. You don’t trust me to have your back, but between the two of us I think I have a lot more reason not to trust you. I do though,” he finished, with a grin.

“That’s because you’re a moron.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. I think I deserve a little more appreciation. I mean, I’m a catch. A hot ticket item…” His grin only widened. It would be equally satisfying regardless of which reaction he managed to get out of Goro.

“I’m getting out. It’s too crowded in here with the size of your ego.” Goro moved towards the edge, incidentally directly beside where Akira was leaning. “Though, between the two of us I think you should remember who the celebrity was. Your fifteen minutes of fame didn’t even show half your face.” His expression control was phenomenal, but Akira could feel the smile, hiding just behind a wet lock of hair. “I had fangirls. I wonder if any of them still have my poster up.”

Akira wrapped an arm around his waist, as if to stop him from leaving, though Goro had made no move to climb out.

“Do you have any of those lying around? I could put them up in the attic. Well… I’d have to look at them first. It’ll have to be good if I’m going to replace Sapphire.”

“Unfortunately not,” Goro said, pushing Akira’s heavy bangs back out of his eyes. “You must be terribly disappointed.”

The touch was not particularly gentle, but Akira liked that just as much. “Maybe a little.”

Agonizingly slowly, as if daring him not to pull away, Goro climbed into his lap, draping a leg over his and settling down. Naturally, since this was a bathhouse, they were very naked, which was a fact Akira had been paying a lot less attention to prior to this development. The warm water did nothing to separate them, the steam an insufficient cloak from any prying eyes. This was certainly not the first time they’d been this close, but something about the risk made it more real. Being here, in the open with his hands on Goro’s hips, grinding him down into his lap… it felt like confirmation that Akira hadn’t just imagined it all.

They sat together in the warm water, laughing, and touching, and kissing. Akira felt out-of-body. Like an outside observer, he surveyed what they’d managed to build together, despite everything, and felt that it was good.

~

Akira hadn’t done anything all day aside from stare at his phone. Goro wasn’t answering, and it made him nervous. He wasn’t a clingy person by nature, but after nearly two inseparable weeks the sudden absence unbalanced him. And he figured he had every right to be on edge, given that it was the 1st of February, their deadline less than forty-eight hours away.

 **Akira:** We have to do something

 **Akira:** Seriously if he hasn’t done something by now we don’t know he will tomorrow.

There was no response.

 **Akira:** Let’s meet up at least

Still, his phone remained silent. To be fair, Akira’s argument hadn’t changed since they’d last spoken that morning, though “spoken” was being a bit generous. In response to his very valid worries, Goro had only texted his certainty that Maruki would appear, giving no argument that Akira could understand. He didn’t even have the decency to come stew in his anxiety with him.

It didn’t help that, in the hope that Goro would appear, Akira had spent the day at Leblanc. Sojiro had let him help in the kitchen, but only after a good amount of convincing. The man was adamant that Akira should be spending time with his friends. Being here made things worse. Without Goro to distract him, to shame him for his traitorous thoughts, Akira had nothing to do but obsess, the knowledge of what he would be taking from them weighing heavy on his shoulders.

However, when Futaba walked through the door, Yusuke and Morgana in tow, Akira was snapped from his moping by an unexpected burst of anger.

Futaba noticed him first. “Oh! Hey Akira…” She was clearly nervous, the laughter draining from her face as she saw him.

Akira leaned against the wall near the stove, looking up from his unresponsive phone at the greeting. The few customers who had comprised the dinner rush were gone, and Leblanc was empty aside from them and Sojiro.

“Oh, hello Akira,” Yusuke said, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Hey.”

For the first time in a long time, Akira had not bothered to choose a mask—at least not consciously—and what lay beneath was barbed. He knew they felt it, from how they pulled away. There was part of him who couldn’t fault them… and there was part of him that did.

“Boss!” Morgana wined. “These two took too long shopping. I almost starved to death.” He leaned over the counter, not unlike a cat begging at the edge of a table.

“Stop complaining,” Futaba said. “Your repayment is curry. We will be fed and watered! Right Sojiro…?”

Morgana’s groan eclipsed Sojiro’s comparatively quiet sigh.

“I’m never coming to Akihabara with you again.” Morgana pouted.

“History would indicate that this is untrue,” Yusuke noted. “A leopard cannot change its spots.”

“Sit down, all of you.” Sojiro interjected before the play-fight could get out of hand. “Honestly Futaba… you’ll have me go out of business, feeding all these strays.”

The trio shuffled obediently to a booth, and Akira remained frozen. He made no move to remove his apron, nor to help in the kitchen.

“Akira,” Sojiro called. “Let’s whip them up something fresh. Then you can take the rest of the night off. You haven’t eaten yet either.”

Looking down, Akira realized he’d been squeezing his phone so hard it was a miracle it hadn’t cracked. Still, the screen remained dark. Mechanically, he headed to the stove. He was tired and stressed, and he missed Goro, and it didn’t feel fair that they got to exist in ignorant bliss, their carefree laugher filling the space until he couldn’t breathe.

There were two options, Akira decided, as he slid into the booth, intending to stay only as long as it would take to avoid confrontation with Sojiro. The first was that they—on some level—were conscious of the choice they were making. That they’d seen what Maruki was offering and been too weak-willed to refuse. The second choice was that they could not see through it. All The Phantom Thieves, in one way or another, had ended up on their path because they’d seen through the lies of society. There should have been a part of their minds seeing the inconsistencies, stirring from its Maruki-induced slumber and highlighting the wrongness Akira was sure they must be able to feel. It hurt to admit that might not be the case. Prior to the new year, Akira had thought highly of all their intelligence.

 _“Why can’t you see it?”_ He wanted to yell, as they fought about the artistic merits of anime merch while shoving curry in their faces. _“How is it fair that I don’t get to enjoy this too?”_

Was what they’d chosen so much better than what he’d offered them? A snivelling old man with no artistic talents of his own, a human body he doubted Morgana even cared to use for anything past following around his puppy-crush, and a woman who’d been developing brainwashing techniques for Shido’s business partners. That was what they’d chosen.

Not even bothering to say a proper goodbye, Akira left the booth, retreating to the attic without explanation. There was no point in spending time with these people who were not quite his friends, or maybe it was because they were.

They weren’t like him. They never had been. Akira was sure he’d never have fallen for anything this stupid, this empty. It was only worth something if he’d build it himself. After all the work he’d put into creating his team, his life and legacy, Akira wasn’t going to let Maruki replace it with this cold, plastic, simile of a life.

Goro better be right, Akira thought, because they were out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no it seems the dreaded date is almost upon us! Whatever will our hero do when he learns the truth? Will I ever write it? Tune in next time to find out.


	6. Hypocrite

Akira paced the length of the attic. Often he considered going down the stairs, or reaching for his phone, but each time he stopped himself, continuing to wear the same pattern into the old boards. The evening of the last day was fast approaching, and Akira had yet to save the world. He’d decided long ago that if Maruki did not appear he would still go to the palace on the morning of February 3rd, and demand he look him in the eyes while he took his freedom. Yet losing heroically was still losing, and Akira knew it would be his fault. Not Akechi’s, not Maruki’s, but his.

 **Goro:** Anything yet?

 **Akira:** no

There was no point in blame, no point in “I told you so.” This was the path they had chosen.

 **Goro:** I can’t be wrong.

At least Goro was talking to him again; after the vanishing act he’d pulled these last few days that was a relief. Perhaps distance was how he dealt with stress. It was a shame he was the opposite of Akira, who wanted nothing more in that moment than for Goro to be waiting in the attic with him.

Akira had finally tired himself out, slumping down onto the couch in defeat, when his phone rang.

“Sorry for calling so late.” The voice on the other end was unmistakable. “This is Maruki, by the way.” Akira did not dignify that with a response. “I’m actually rather close by… Would you mind lending me an ear? …And, if you do intend to confront me, I believe there’s something you have to give me first.”

“If we must.” There was no point dragging this out.

“Thank you. I’ll be at the café shortly. See you later.” The line went dead, leaving Akira alone in the crushing silence of the attic.

He stood at the top of the stairs for a long time, unable to take the first step. Even after the clang of the bells indicated that his visitor was waiting, he found himself unprepared. Finally, somehow, he descended, for there was nowhere else to go but down. Maruki had made himself comfortable in one of the booths, waiting politely for Akira to join him.

“Sorry for the last-minute visit,” he said, as Akira slid in across from him. “How are you holding up?”

“I assume you’re not here for small talk.” He was done playing Maruki’s games. So often he had no choice in the matter, but tonight he took his stand.

“Fair enough.” Maruki smiled placidly—infuriatingly. “So… Getting down to business… I wanted to confirm with you one last time: is there no other way to come to an agreement besides fighting?”

“We can’t accept this reality.” After everything, Akira could not hate him. This was simply how it was: two competing belief systems, two competing realities.

“The reality I created may seem distorted from your point-of-view… But it’s a reality where everyone is happy. If you just stay, you’ll never have to suffer the pain of loss, or the pain of having people and things stolen away from you.”

“Like you have?” Akira couldn’t help himself. Even now, the bond between them remained, and Akira wanted desperately to help him, if that was still possible.

Maruki’s eyes widened in surprise, like Akira hadn’t just spent the last month digging through his subconscious. “So… You saw what happened with Rumi. I’m not the one who suffered—she is… But she’s still living a wonderful life right now, in this world you call a distorted reality.”

“Did you ever ask her?” Akira asked. “Do you think she would have chosen this, if she was in the state to answer you?”

“She shouldn’t have to carry the weight of that decision. That’s why I’ll do it for her. For Rumi’s happiness to last, I have to move on. After all that’s happened to her—to me—I can’t drag her into it.”

Akira’s hand tightened on the edge of the table.

“My stance will not change,” Maruki said, with equal intensity. “Strange circumstances have led to me gaining this power—however, I now recognize it as being wholly inevitable. This is something only I am capable of doing. I promise: every person alive will be happy in the world I create…”

Of everything Maruki had said thus far, it was only this that managed to shake Akira. He saw himself in Maruki, as he so often did; the certainty of his own destiny, the importance and responsibility that came with the knowledge that only he could put things right. Was Maruki always destined to be here? To strike Akira down like he’d struck down Yaldabaoth before him?

“So, let me ask you the same,” Maruki continued. “After really considering every option, do either of you have any doubts about your views?”

There was a beat of silence. “…either?”

“I suppose it’s my accurate to ask, ‘Do you two gentlemen have any doubts?’” Maruki turned pointedly to look at the door. “You’re here, aren’t you? …Akechi-kun.”

The cold air rushed in, and there he was. Akira was ecstatic to see him, of course, but it was strange he hadn’t mentioned coming by Leblanc.

“Goro?” he asked.

There was a tension in his posture Akira did not like, expression impassive and eyes focused only on Maruki. “…you caught me.”

“Oh, it was just a hunch.” Maruki’s smile was soft, approaching Goro like one might a wounded animal. “This issue doesn’t only affect you Akira-kun… Akechi-kun, this involves you, too.”

“What do you mean?” Akira asked.

Goro would not meet his eyes.

“The relationship you two share is very unusual…” An angry retort formed on Akira’s tongue, but he had no chance to spit it out. “A detective and a phantom thief. Despite being enemies, your relationship isn’t based on hatred or ill will…” It was a taunt, an attempt at provocation. Maruki danced around the truth like he hadn’t peered into their minds and laid bare all the twisted, tangled things Akira never wanted anyone to see… expect perhaps Goro.

However, nothing could have prepared him for what Maruki said next.

“That’s why I found it so tragic when I learned what happened in Shido’s palace… Say, Akira-kun… didn’t you regret how things ended with him? You two came to a deep understanding of one another… yet you had no choice but to leave Akechi-kun to his fate. That’s why I created a reality where you two could have a fresh start together.”

What was he trying to say? Akira’s mind stalled. Maruki looked between them both, and Goro still did not move, still did not meet his eyes.

“I—I don’t understand,” Akira heard himself say.

“It means,” Maruki explained, like a kindergarten teacher speaking to a child, “the Akechi in the real world died on that ship. I genuinely didn’t want to tell you like this. I didn’t want to make it seem like I’m holding him hostage. But no matter what you think of me, I just want you to accept this reality and move on with your happy lives.”

Finally, Goro spoke. “…and this matters how, exactly? Don’t tell me you think dangling my life before us is going to have any impact on our decision.”

Akira couldn’t breathe. There was still a part of him that hadn’t put the pieces together, and he cringed away from that understanding, refused to face it for as long as possible.

“You—you knew…?” he finally choked out.

“Well, I lacked conclusive evidence… But I had a gap in my memory that ended when I saw you and Sae on Christmas.” It was scientific and detached, like this was just another philosophical thought experiment instead of... “Then, there were the cases of Wakaba and Okumura. I had my suspicions from the beginning, of course, but the more I studied this world the more confident I became.”

“I see,” Maruki said, having the gall to sound apologetic. “I had a feeling the truth of the matter still wouldn’t dissuade you Akechi-kun… But how about you? Akechi-kun thinks that “dangling his life” will have no effect on your decision. If that’s how you see it at this point, I’m fine with it… But I’m still going to ask you, one last time: Will you accept the reality I create for you? You were the guiding light to my research. You showed me the way so I could make my dream into reality. I have nothing but gratitude for you—not a single ounce of ill will. That’s—”

“Shut up.” Akira hit the table. “Just… shut up.”

He went on and on and on, filling the quiet of Leblanc with his endless, poisonous words.

Akira’s voice had come out weaker than he’d intended, less a command than a plea. However, Goro’s face was no longer impassive, and he looked seconds from grabbing Maruki by the throat.

Seemingly sensing his precarious position, Maruki rose from the booth. “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you for an answer on the spot like that. I’ll be going now.”

Like any other injury, Akira locked it away. Even if he were bleeding out, he could finish a fight.

“You forgot something.” From inside his jacket, Akira removed the calling card, flicking it across the table.

Maruki picked it up dutifully. “Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard your calling.” He walked to the door then stopped, looking back to where Akira still sat, Goro standing stiffly beside him. “And about my question—let’s do this… I’ll be waiting in the palace tomorrow, just as I promised. If you still haven’t changed your mind by then, we’ll meet there. But if you don’t show, I’ll take that to mean you’ve accepted my reality.” The bell above the door chimed as he pushed it open. “…See you.”

Then, he was gone.

The last part of Akira succumbed, dropping the shield of denial from shaking hands. The truth finally hit him in its entirety, and he began to laugh.

“Akira?” Goro reached out as if to touch him, but pulled back.

Akira did not let him, grabbing his wrists in a firm grip as the laughter continued. The quivering of his shoulders bordered dangerously on sobs, but no tears were yet to fall. Eventually, Akira stopped, just as Goro managed to free himself, scowling down at him in confusion.

“I can’t believe you’re not laughing.” Akira spoke into his hands. “You must have been laughing this whole time. How did you hold it in with some of the shit I said? I’m such an idiot. How could you stand to be around me? I’m such a fucking hypocrite!”

Finally, he looked up, and Goro seemed to deflate, slumping down into the booth across from him.

“Yes,” he agreed, earning another choked laugh. “Yet I still have more faith in you than any of them.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. And… because I have to.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Goro’s gloved hand resting loosely on the table, just out of reach.

“I must be a terrible person,” Akira finally said.

“Now we both know that’s not true.”

Akira just stared at him. They truly were the perfect match: selfish, twisted people, gifted with power and set on a path to destruction. Because for the first time Akira was truly considering Maruki’s offer. He’d had doubts before, of course, but this was the first time he could visualize himself doing it. He’d actually been angry at his friends for wanting to bring their parents back to life, thinking himself above such petty emotions. When here, across from him, sat their killer. Emotions knew no logic.

“You kept trying to warn me,” Akira said, “that Maruki was controlling me just like everyone else. I think Lavenza tried to tell me, too. She must be disappointed. I can’t be the Trickster they expect.”

Goro’s eyes widened. “You can’t seriously be considering this.”

Suddenly Akira found he couldn’t look at him anymore, and got to his feet, turning towards the stairs. He wasn’t sure where he was going.

“Akira!” He lunged at him, but Akira tore his arm away. “You can’t be serious. You know I’d rather die than live in a reality concocted to please somebody else!”

There was no escape. Akira wasn’t sure where he’d run even if Goro did let go of his wrist.

“I’d never accept it,” Goro growled. “You know that.”

“I know…” Akira choked out. “I just…” He just needed a moment to breathe. It was all falling all at once, and he needed to regain his balance. “I don’t want to lose you again. It hurt so much. I couldn’t even admit to myself how much it hurt.”

“I will go to that palace tomorrow and I will force him to kill me. If something comes back know it can’t be me, because if Maruki allows even a sliver of myself to remain I will not rest until he is dead! Even if I can’t reach him I will tear his world to shreds until he’s forced to deal with me. If you fold under some bullshit, trivial threat on my unwanted life all you’ll get in return is a doll with my face.” His arm was beginning to hurt, as Goro’s grip tightened. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you understand. Akira!”

“I know!” Akira shoved him away. Goro stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the bar. “I know. Just shut up. Shut up…”

Surprisingly, Goro did, and once Akira got his breathing back under control he turned to face him.

“I’m not taking the deal, Akechi. Maybe, for a moment, I thought it was an option, but it never was. Not for me. I am what I’ve always been. I have to save the world, even if I’m tired, even if you… even if you’re not in it. I don’t think I’d be capable of anything else.”

There was a long pause. “I—I’m glad to hear that.”

Goro took a tentative step forward. Akira’s eyes were damp, and Goro removed his glasses, running a thumb across the shadow, though Akira didn’t think any tears had escaped to make it there.

“I love you,” Akira accused. “You knew all along. Why did you do this? Just to torture me?” He pulled away once more. “Our game was never fair.”

“I…”

“Was it just one more way to hurt me? One final win?” He was too angry now to cry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry.” It sounded more defensive than apologetic. “At first I wasn’t sure, and it’s not something I was keen to accept. You don’t have a monopoly on denial. Then… I decided if I was going to die again I might as well enjoy my borrowed time.”

“And you didn’t see this coming?”

“Telling you would have been too risky. I couldn’t understand why Maruki would bring me back, of all things, but if that was truly what you wished for I couldn’t take the risk that you’d turn on me if you knew the truth.”

“I’m glad to know you had so much faith in me.”

Again, Goro drew closer, and this time Akira did not pull away, letting him take his face in his hands. He ran a thumb across his lips, the other hand curling behind his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time it sounded sincere. “You have the more difficult part in this. I hate that you’re being made to carry this alone.” There was venom in his voice, but it was not directed at Akira.

Goro kissed him then, and Akira tried to remember every piece of it. He clung to him like the last traces of a dream, but he was far too warm, too solid, to be a ghost.

“I hate them all,” Goro growled. “Maruki, your _friends_ … None of them deserve you. I hate them for making you carry this alone. And I… I am not exempt from that.”

“You didn’t choose to die.”

“Probably not.”

Another kiss, rougher this time.

“I may be making this worse,” Goro said, “but I think I’ve lied to you enough. I did not think myself capable of such things, but the way I feel about you… I have nothing to compare it to. My relationship with the memory of my mother, my relationship with myself… neither provide much useful comparison. And there is nothing else in my life that could even be called love. Perhaps I’m just missing that piece, perhaps if I had it I would just know, but I know I don’t want to leave you. Not like this.”

Akira’s strangled laugh was lost in his mouth. “I love you too, you idiot. I always will.”

They stayed like that for some time, circling, in each other’s arms like a dance. The kissing was slow and familiar, and Goro was kind enough not to comment on the taste of salt.

“We will go to the palace tomorrow and face him down without fear,” Goro said. “Both of us are far above his petty threats. And perhaps it is just that… a threat, but I am unafraid regardless. Remember that, Akira. I was given a month I never deserved.”

“Just one more night,” Akira pleaded. “Stay. One more night.”

Goro had made no moves to the contrary, but there was some illogical part of him that felt he would melt into smoke if he stopped touching him for even a moment.

“Yes,” Goro agreed. “And trust me… I’ll make sure you remember it forever.”

~

Goro made good on his promise. Though this was in no way the first night they’d spent together, it was the first to feel like this. Dressed in bites and bruises, and with no tears left to cry, Akira sunk into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in some time.

This was not a peace shared by Goro Akechi, who sat awake in the dark attic, listening to the rhythmic breathing with a deadly expression on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry you had to wait so long for what is by far the shortest chapter. But hear me out. There's a reason it has to be cut where it is, and I promise the next chapter is wild... and mostly written.
> 
> The 2/2 conversation in this chapter is the seed from where most of the fic sprung, so let me know what you think.


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